an Aotearoa poetry journal | ISSN 2744-3248

All Editions

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


It’s all gone now; all over.
Your brothers unhinging the
differential from underneath
a Zephyr Mark IV. Oil spilling
onto the driveway, making a
mask of ghosts in blood spots.

The go-kart with a broken axle
partially hidden in the long grass.

You become an empty
cicada shell. Voices distil
through the trees. Reaching
higher, but never looking up.

I wish I could put words to light
to describe the long reach of gravity,
like a memory pulling planets.

The house, years later, sits empty.
How many of us have brushed
its hollow walls, painted murals
on its underbelly, kissed our
first loves under its arches.

Does it still hold the memory of us?

Before taking my leave I plant
a row of clues. By morning
the moon will have pulled them
all up by their roots.