Uranga

I am up at Seneca’s tower, sliding in my shoes. The line between us is feeble
kinetic sand black and shivering, holding on
grain for grain

This is the landing place of exile
middle of glass silver ocean. At night the sound of rocks
clicking together metal, bats echoing off the terraced blue stone gardens
curtains, old tablecloths, billowing white. Here is the sea wind
the pulse dance of pink jellyfish
green flash over the water line.

In the last days he sleeps in a different bed each night, unmade with no sheets
I find him in the mornings before we go out in the garden

This, the place of arrival; playlist, untitled
This track is the loop of rice fields

Gunshot lights rich with soy and red, umami flavour
Theo is holding
buckets of it
by the door

Okay, okay yeah.

Nadezhda Macey

Nadezhda Macey (she/her) is a student and poet from Te Whanganui-a-tara. You can find more of her work in magazines starting with ‘s’: Starling, Symposia, and Salient.