it's all just life and death

You rest one hand
gently,
oh so very gently,
on your son,
reach over the waka tapu,
smiling through
your salted desolation,
stroke the baby-cheek
of his sister’s son
his nephew
your grandson

I smooth out the dirty,
crumpled, silver paper star
tangled in the grass
where I sit aware
of every sign of life
even of the pressure
of my finger
against the nail
as I smooth
over and over
and over.




Waka tapu = coffin