![]() There is a big hook in the ground, a tribute to Maui’s great fishing trip. I can’t remember if the sun shone down, lights breaching through the branches or if it was the usual weather that those who live in Pōneke have grown accustomed to. Boots that go past the knee, I add them to my list of aspirational style choices, along with big hoop earrings. I’m sweating, my breath catching in my mouth like thick fog. We meet for the first time waiting outside of Manhire House (imagine being the poet with the building named after you?) I have just moved down from Kirikiriroa, I am still adjusting. I travel backwards down a path I must take one day. It must be sharp to cross between this world and the next. I think of this piece of writing and the anxiety of imagining back to your past self. Tayi is her poems rebellious, intelligent and committed to lifting up others (seen recently in her fantastic work with the Toi Māori blog). I think a poem isn’t necessarily the person who writes it, but we do hold pieces of ourselves in the poem and we hold pieces of the poem inside us. ![]() ![]() This poem is short 8 lines, but full of promises, a promise of community a promise of rebellion, a promise of razor wit. Dark text on a grey screen late in the night, more reading to see what Starling likes than to find something new. I read Tayi’s work for the first time it is the poem ‘Blood Pacts’ from the first issue of Starling, a short and heart-breaking look at a relationship between what feels like siblings or a woman talking to her past self. ![]()
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