After Marama Salsano’s ‘Bloodwork’ Every few months I fill an inkwell with my blood and watch other people start writing with it.They dip the pointed heads of their pens into the jar and draw up just enoughto write a quarterly entry in their notes about me.I assume they record how my blood works. One lifts the bottle…
We’re so excited the incredible Renee Liang is judging the Monica Taylor Poetry Prize 2024! Dr Renee Liang 梁文蔚 MNZM is a poet, paediatrician, playwright and essayist. After exploring open mics in Broken Hill, Australia, Renee joined the MC team at Poetry Live, becoming known for running slams. Since then Renee has become a jack…
Anne Kennedy’s recent books are The Sea Walks into a Wall, The Ice Shelf, and, as editor, Remember Me: Poems to Learn by Heart from Aotearoa New Zealand. Awards and fellowships include the Prime Minister’s Award for Literary Achievement in Poetry, the NZ Post Book Award for Poetry, and the IIML Writers Residency. Anne is the…
The departure was as awkward as how it started. Moving a flaccid mattress between Wellington flats. One hundred and eleven steps down, fifty-seven up. Then fifty-seven down and one hundred and eleven up, back to the van to get more stuff: your Penguin book collection, Vice magazines, SodaStream, coffee machine, rare and dear-to-you vinyl (Aztec…
Kārerarerapale like fresh growthof māhoe across Zealandia’svalley in spring, or atasty Granny Smithto be cooked up in a pudding Kākārikia beautiful rich green, like (obvs)the native parrot that Mumbred out at the farmwith red or yellow crownsand cheeky little chatters Kārikiuridark green like a Christmas treewith spiky upturned branchesthat give ‘the finger’or my old school…
I don’t see cats chatting with their mates, lamenting their work performance,dissecting their every yowl and mew,wishing they’d said it differently,if they should have stayed late, wonderinghow the other cats might judge them. I don’t see dogs lying awake at nightturning that conversation over and overin their minds, worrying over it like they woulda bone. They…
Turmeric stains my fingers yellow,real tears adding salt that this curry doesn’t need.I replay the wordsover and over and overin my head—they rollaround like chickpeas on the floor. There are traces of you in this kitchenif you know where to look—cloves I…
1. sleep found me last nightsoaked in slumber depths of blackit didn’t warn meof the dull ache on wakingor the fate of the harsh sun 2. strobe glare of morningtightened eyes stretching with squintmirrors my bellylife inside still there and yetnot the same as yesterday 3. noon light is unsureringtone wait with steady breathcome and…
i grew up surrounded by the two shades that make up me brown and cream mixed together, the cultures b…l…e…n…d i l u t reduce. until what’s left? to some i am Pākehā grew up in a household with narrow noses, pink cheeks, light hair but what about the other part? biological disregard handed me…
you thought age would make you imperviousto everything, that dimmer lightwould give you an alluring profile,or heartache would help youwrite better poems. not gifted in metaphor, I thoughtyou looked like a postcard from the side:something inviting but impersonalabout that tucked-in chin,the high sweep of your cheekbones like a proud-winged bird. I remember youstanding in my…