Matariki

The time of breathing into clasped hands

hovering over a lighter to make a flame

not knowing

that an angry man threw his eyes into the night

the belly of his shattered father

weeping rain for separation of earth and sky

harvesting bitter grudges

from minds like hardened soil

packing up the wounds with mud and whiskey

and opening doors to wait

for those curious to know

how sky maps granted our existence

how the weight of earth

pushed against tongues of oars

and our tīpuna pushed back

and won.