Anchor Me
A work in progress by Serie Barford
Preface
Anchor Me is a syncretic work inspired by the concept of a European medieval anchoress and the Samoan principles of the Four Harmonies, as explained by Tui Ātua.
An anchoress withdrew from secular life for religious reasons. Was permanently enclosed in a specific location. Symbolically buried alive. She was permitted to keep a cat – not a cow or a goat. The geographical co-ordinates of her anchorhold were a beacon for people seeking healing, spiritual guidance, the peace and glory of heavenly communion.
According to Tui Ātua, in order to achieve peace one must achieve harmony. The four harmonies are:
• Cosmic Harmony: Connecting with the universe and the broader spiritual realm
• Environmental Harmony: Protecting and respecting the land, sea, and all living things
• Social Harmony: Respecting and supporting fellow human beings and the community
• Personal Harmony: Maintaining inner peace and health.
Each poem is a monologue: a vignette designed to be read aloud. The collection as a whole is envisaged as a hopeful, joyful, healing interaction between a 21st century anchoress, her visitors, and the audience.
Note
His Highness Tui Ātua Tupua Tamasese Ta’isi Efi is a former Head of State, Prime Minister and MP for Samoa. Widely acknowledged to be one of the leading cultural custodians of the Pacific, he is the author of Su’esu’e Manogi: In Search of Fragrance exploring Samoa’s ‘indigenous reference’.
Becoming an anchoress
My world is physically shrinking. I’m increasingly anchored within an 85 m² house built in the 1950s. Imagine apple-green timber, blue window frames, a concrete tile roof perched in an overgrown garden. Feline companions sprawled in the sun.
Little Cat was born into the wild cat colony squatting in a local school. She’s ginger, with lentigo simplex – cat freckles – on her nose. Has short legs, a long tail, topaz eyes. She breached Covid lockdown. Streaked into my house. Hid behind a divan. Whelped six kittens. Five survived.
I kept Little Cat. Rather, she kept me. I’m her human. She evades caresses. Meows for food. Purrs on my bed. Resembles a fluffy sphinx. Tabitha is Little Cat’s daughter. She’s mottled ginger, black, and white. Has green eyes. Nestles into the scoliotic curve of my back at night. Adores me. Distances herself from Little Cat’s swiping paws.
I’m living with metastatic breast cancer. A rapidly approaching expiry date. Greet each day with wonder and gratitude. These poems are small acts of devotion. My ultimate lock down project.
Cuppa for a voiceless visitor
Welcome, my friend. Leave your shoes on the BEWARE OF THE CAT doormat. Ha! Great you’ve still got teeth. Can tweak a grimace into an almost smile.
I’m guiding you toward the big window. A peaceful vista. A focus as the adrenaline surge abates. You’ve flown well. Found sanctuary atop a rutted driveway. Beyond the brown rickety gates festooned with yellow and orange lichen.
Here, rest on the couch. Safe places slow breathing. Are soporific. I’ll boil the kettle. You don’t have to say anything. I can read bodies. And if you want – just sink into the lullaby of my overgrown garden. My anchorhold. Sleep.
Ahhhhh …. you’re showing me your tongue. Hmmmm …. blistered from unvoiced rage, grief, fear, lack of nourishment. And your throat – corded and clenched. I’m guessing you haven’t cried for years. Became a chameleon to remain invisible. Keep yourself safe. Emotions so strungout they ran out. Trauma can do that. Turn us into the living dead.
You’re pointing … to that box of tissues? I’ll put them next to you. They’re ready when you are. That’s such an act of courage and hope. To reach for tissues. To believe you’ll cry again. Find your voice.
May I settle you onto cushions? Create a crash pad to absorb exiting impact? It’ll relax your shoulders. Support your hips. Distribute and support stress. Then I’ll gently cover you with a light blanket. Is that okay? ….. Alright then ….Thanks.
You’re patting my hand. Almost smiled again. That’s a good sign, my friend. We’re loosening the emotional tourniquet strangling your voice.
Softly breathe in. Breathe out. Hā ki roto, hā ki waho.
Sip this tea. Swallow.
NOTE: Hā ki roto, hā ki waho (Māori) Breathe in, breathe out
All is one
Dawn brought news of a significant maritime earthquake. I’m reminded of the Samoan expression: A logo tai ua logo uta – What is felt in the ocean is felt in the land.
For we’re interwoven. What one part of the body feels is sensed by the entire body.
Dahlias on a windy day
Faʻatiu whips the exposed flesh of dahlias. Almost topples an elderly man wrestling flailing gates to posts. He inserts galvanised zenith hooks into matching metallic eyes. Secures an entrance for his car. Grinds a manual gearbox to a halt outside the back door. Pegs each step from the driver’s door to the coir doormat with a worn walking stick.
Welcome uncle! You’ve brought slippers? Lean on the porch wall beneath the electricity meter. It’s a wind shelter. I’ll remove your outside shoes. Slip on the comfy soles you brought. Oooooh! Tartan uppers. Are you going to caper?
Ach, nae. You’re never too old, uncle. I’ll dance with you. What’s that? …. You brought a hip flask. Some whisky – the water of life. And mechanically wrapped slices of cheese.
I’ll put the kettle on. Butter scones for the cheese.
Choose a teacup. Each one has a story…. So do your hip flasks? Ha! Bet they do. We can swap stories. Have a laugh. A cry. Whatever.
I’ll play maw. Pour the tea. … Aye …. you’ve brought what you need for a hot toddy.
I didn’t know your estranged father was an inventor. Cast imagination to the wind. You’ve always told me to sit on my creativity. That it doesn’t pay bills. Turns people into loose canons.
That’s what you feared? …..Not knowing what your da would do next. Being abandoned during creative phases. The devious truth he’d fabricate to excuse absence. The despair of a hungry family competing with imagination for resources and recognition…… Dear oh dear ….
What’s that? You’re fascinated by individually wrapped cheese slices. How automated machines delicately flip, wrap, seal each fragile slice without breaking them. Wish you’d invented the machine. Spent more time with your da.
It’s okay to bawl, Uncle. A watershed relieves a heavy heart….. There’s a hanky in your pocket ….
I’ll open the doors. Let wind rush in – rush out. Cast your sorrow to the wind.
Feeling lighter? …… Peace be with you, Uncle.
Let’s refill our cups. Stand together. Toast your maw and da.
Slàinte Mhath!
NOTE
Fa’atiu (Samoan) Wind and storm deity
Ach, nae (Scottish) Oh no!
maw (Scottish) mother, mum
Aye (Scottish) Yes
da (Scottish) dad, pa
Slàinte Mhath! (Scottish Gaelic) cheers, good health (pronounced Slan-cha-VA)
Serie Barford
Serie Barford was born in Aotearoa to a German-Samoan mother(Lotofaga) and a Pālagi father. She held a 2018 Pasifika Writer’s residency at the Michael King Centre, performed at the 2019 International Book Arsenal Festival in Kyiv, and collaborated with filmmaker Anna Marbrook for the 2021 Going West Different Out Loud poetry series. Her poetry collection, Sleeping with Stones (Anahera Press 2021), was shortlisted for the Mary and Peter Biggs Award for Poetry at the 2022 Ockham New Zealand Book Awards. Standing on My Shadow (Anahera Press 2025) was longlisted for the 2026 Ockham Book Awards.
