(The funeral of my brother-in-law)
How he would have loved his funeral
in any role except that of the departed
awaiting the command: haere! haere!
while hovering near the lump
of man-shaped plasticine
he had tried so hard to hold together.
Watching the mokopuna bending
touching kissing his deserted shell
with love awe curiosity sadness
would touch his heart but he would squirm
at being addressed as a rangatira
and perhaps take his place among the
kaikoorero and say this fellow was actually
a taurekareka who had his weaknesses
and her family would remember and
forgive him because of his truthfulness.
Leaving the marae for the school hall
his smiles at their stories and blushes
at the praise would warm that crowded place.
Told once more to haere haere he might
have rebelled and stayed to enjoy the
gathering of the two clans Maaori and
paakehaa with the mokopuna watching the
casket lowered asking where has Koro gone?
He might stay for the hangi in the pit he made
with the blue sky smell of trampled grass
squabbling tamariki the kai reka the beer
the wine the dirty stories reminiscences
hugs and shared tears as each flew away
leaving the widow and some of the
whanaunga to comfort her and finally
he would fly away too.
________________________________________________
The old chief who came into my bedroom
when I was about seven and spoke thoughts
not Maori not English, who told me I could
stay on the stolen land because I was a child.
The place of escape from yowling siblings
I called the fairy dell, not noticing the strangeness
of tinsel and wands amongst the soft pong
of rotten logs, spaghnum, liverwort, manuka
in flower and tiny green and blue orchids.
The time God spoke to me from the bottom
of a purple cloud - my name so clear
just the week after He called Samuel at
Sunday school. I was pegging clothes
beside the macrocarpa windbreak and
my brow uncoiled knowing the lightning
was going to miss the trees and me.
The time I prayed and prayed, 'Please God
make them stop quarrelling long enough
to notice how well I have set the table,'
and the sugar bowl dropped from my hands.
How doubt began.