When Grey Lynn swam in primary colours
I used to twist my hair into a knot
Play touch with all the giggly kids
No shoes rasta patterns pineapple pie
Aunty cooking up the dalo
now I wear op-shop jeans
jandals on my giant feet
even in the Grey
Least you’re not tralalaing over graveyards
chewing up the headstones
says my grandmother
swinging her own bare brown feet out of the sky
but she’s singing Isa Lei and I
only have a poem.
I could sell you a rosary from the beads on my ovaries.
shiny / secret / circlets shaped like nits
strung on a thread
they might shine in the moonlight.