Two Poems

Galoshes

After all you gave me, including
the ambivalence of life itself,
it was a pleasure to gift some comfort.
A fresh wool coat, supple cotton pyjamas,
ethereal orchids, bulging tulip bulbs,
a pair of rubber garden galoshes.

When the phone call finally came,
I knew, instantly, you’d fallen
wearing those bloody galoshes.
I rang an artist aunt, sobbing,
explained about the footwear.
‘I’m wearing crocs right now,’
she said. ‘Kia kaha,’ I replied.

Being tall, your shoes were
always flat and practical,
white nursing brogues, sandshoes.
I could never fit into them.
All that thorough medical training
and dormitory school repression
shaped your emotional expression
and, by extension, informed mine.

Anyway, most likely it was a stroke
and the kind of footwear irrelevant,
although it was typical, Mum,
you went out with your galoshes on.

Chiffon

Viewing the raw past through
a mesh of mist, wish on whetū
Pōhutukawa, or oblivious
by a lakeside, colours swab
and overlay, as transparent
as watercolour, hot florals,
easily frayed, a trauma of days.

What to do with these dreamy
dresses? Making dusters seems
obscene, or cleaning. Blouses
obscure only to reveal the missing
breasts of mastectomy, gauze,
weft yarn pairs, crossed over aho,
the sorrowful mornings of gasa.

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Briar Wood (Ngāpuhi Nui Tonu, Te Hikutū) grew up in South Auckland, Aotearoa New Zealand, and lived in Britain for many years. She has published poems, essays, and stories. A collection of poems, Welcome Beltane (Palores Publications), was published in 2012. Her collections Rāwahi (2017) and A Book of Rongo and Te Rangahau (2022) were both published by Anahera Press.