ROSE PEOPLES
Balancing act
My head is so heavy
It feels precariously balanced on my neck
It is no longer enough to just lay it down
I wish I could pop it out of its socket like a Barbie head
Remove it from its nub
Squeeze it so the stale plastic air is expelled
Rest it somewhere soft and dark and quiet
Rest the rest of my body – neck, shoulders, spine, legs
Let all the muscles hold just themselves
I ask you to lift my head up for me
We face each other and you cup your hands around the base of my skull
Your fingers around the back of my neck, the sharp 90-degree end of my jawbone pressing into your palm, the heel of your hands on the soft underside of my neck
You lift until your arms shake from the effort
Later, I Google just how heavy a human head is
I remember hearing once that it weighs as much as a bowling ball.
I read that the brain is the heaviest organ in the body
It is heavier than a new-born baby
Approximately 8% of your body weight
“all that just balanced on seven vertabrae”
All that
just
balanced
Love is an open ribcage
I want my ribcage to have hinges so I can swing it open
Swing it open to show you my heart
I want you to like me
Really like me
I want to be liked by everyone I encounter
I want everyone I encounter to really really like me
I want you to unlatch my chest and
swing it open and take out my heart for inspection
I want to show you the small, unintimidating thing that is my heart
And say See? this heart poses no risk for you –
it will always love you more than you love it
I want you to inspect my heart
and find it
not wanting
Late, and with muddy paws
It is night
and the dog has disappeared into the dark shadows of the bushes
It is night
and the dog is late in returning to you
Late, and with muddy paws
and a tail wag which attests to a complete lack of remorse
The dog doesn’t understand that when you couldn’t see her
you were cataloguing all the ways she might be hurt, lost, not alright anymore
The dog just understands the allure of night
of the things which come alive in the night
and the of dead things she might explore uninterrupted under the cover of dark
It is night
and the people you care about
are, in the best-case scenario,
only ever sometimes
alright
It is night
cloudy
and so cold
and the only stars you see
are the path of lights
from the ski track
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rose Peoples grew up in Te Awakairangi and now lives in Pōneke, where she works in Māori land law. She has an MA in English Literature. Her work has previously appeared in Starling, Cordite, Mayhem and among other publications.