ADA DUFFY

 

let the hills fall and reroute the roads around them

 

with all hands 
balance
the cliffs of kaikōura
coast. trudge
their ascent in mutter
before

immersion.
whistle sea mist
tongue a lover deep 

and turn down the radio 
because it’s all static here:
warnings happen after the fact. 

scenes eat the windscreen
the ocean is resin.
if i was made of glass
i might consider my feet. 

anyway, i’m thinking about infrastructure.
metal poles project above this small car
reaching more poles that fix 
the highway. 
they appear as fingers, pushing
up the hills 
and stretching out to the water
as if to say, cease: 
any further and everyone will capsize.  
like we’re supposed to believe in them.  
why depend on words like infrastructure  
when i can’t hold you.  

instead we lean with all might
because we have to get to the next thing, aye.
everyone is slipping. text me back 

sharks

i used to  be  afraid of  sharks
the   news    said   they  were
murder  machines  especially
for  women  at  certain  times
of   their   cycle   so   i  stayed
home  until  i got  curious but
i didn’t  know how  to talk  to
sharks  so   i   went   right   in
with     open     arms     which
freaked  them  out  and   they
hurt   me  which   scared   me
and  i  vowed  to stay  out  of
the water  peering at the tide
too was a  girl  who loved  to
swim  she   gave  me  boogie
boards  life  jackets  a  whole
boat  but  i   didn’t  need  any
of   that   just   her   shoulder
brushing     mine    as    we’d
wade   out   in   the   water

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ada duffy is of Kāi Tahu, Pākehā (Irish) and Indo-Fijian descent. their work is sustained by conversations with the whenua, mostly with their feet firm on Te Waipounamu. this year they’ve been lucky to get acquainted with Te Whanganui-a-Tara. you can read more of their work in Starling, PŪHIA II, and Landfall. 

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