an Aotearoa poetry journal | ISSN 2744-3248

All Editions

Tarot #07
Tarot #06
Tarot #05
Tarot #04
Tarot #03
Tarot #02
Tarot #01

Bearing Fruit

I carry the full moon in my womb
as I walk onto my own battlefield,

Mother says, Don’t you know girls grow inside grenades?

I watched her crawl forth from the wreckage on hands and knees,
a daughter crawling head-first out of
the blasted hollow of her home.

Girlhood grows around cyanide
and daughters metamorphose into
their mothers; it sounds like the crack
of a whip against dry bone ready for

I followed Mother into the pit of
exile as a fresh girl, sanguine and blameless.

I followed the white rabbit.

Mother’s horror is a mirror
and I now own her trauma like
a trophy,

a haunted heirloom beating inside
like a second heart.

Get it out of me.