Rejuvenate

Sometimes you reach a point
tipping                        breaking
where you’re wound too tight
rope                            pulled
fraying and about to break.
A fern frond folding back on itself
curling in                    instead of out
moving in the wrong direction.

Listen carefully.

Get yourself a fresh fry-bread.
A hot one that burns the soft skin of your fingertips
and oozes oil onto the plate.
Split it open down the middle and find an air-pocket inside.
Lay down in that doughy cave.
Rest your head against the velvet floor.
Eat yourself into a comfortable nook.
Watch the light filter through its thin skin and
take belly breaths of yeasty air.

You have to slow down sometimes
It’s just the way you’re built.
Wait for the flood.
A glossy golden wave of salted butter streaked with strawberry jam.
Don’t panic as it fills the cavity.
A gentle grip caressing your body, lifting you upward.
Stay a while and drink.

Aroha Witinitara

Aroha Witinitara (Ngāti Kahungunu ki Wairarapa) is a poet in their third year of study at Victoria University. They grew up in Masterton but live in Wellington now. You can find more of their work in Starling, PŪHIA, Takahē and elsewhere.