He paraha te āhua o te kanohi

A light switch is a miraculous thing
a safety net, a weapon, both welcome
and goodbye, it is simple and ubiquitous
in every room in this house
but when you switch, mossy tears in
in your throat becoming plywood, calling
the officers motherfuckers when
your son is handcuffed and dragged away
even though you rang them,
even though this house is falling over
even though you want if not happy, at least
endings, you are not brushed lightly
with goodnight stars
you are not left on to keep out the dark
you’re stuck in between with me
while we sweep up the glass.