The Things We Carried

The Things We Carried

My body is not a clock
it has driftwood in it
four stone adzes
a beech tree, kauri
a stand of kahikatea
in the swamp
six pieces of broken glass
on the tide line
five of them
polished smooth

My body is not a clock
it has the sound
of wind arriving in the trees
a two am cargo train
a man sleeping
my breath
the sea’s

My body is not a clock
it is moons and cycles
the tide, a mountain
an orchard
it is story

Wherewithal
is a thumb-sized nymph
who protects the mouth of a river
where a taniwha guards green stones
from travellers

She goes by the name Nail
has the look of a windblown
dandelion seed
her magic from a powder
made of whiskers
cut from the cat
who lives in the moon

Nail is always smiling
but she has riddles
that live within her
waiting for you
her body is not a clock

My body is not a clock
it is a story
and in the story
a small child is counting
as far as it can go
learning time
as though it is numbers

My body is not a clock
it is a story
and in that story
there is a woman
with her belly and birth pains
her feet are covered in dirt
she has marathons in her thighs
her body is not a clock

My body is not a clock
it is a story
and in the story
two red apple trees
are waiting
for some kind of summer
to fruit
_ _ _ _ From Bullet Hole Riddle (Steele Roberts, 2014)