Two Poems
after hardship
after hardship
the yellow guava’s
five equal trunks
only sprout leaf clusters
the size of a hand—
each bough a furred tail
emerged from earth—
no branches wander off
no delicacy extends—
all cards held close
for hundreds
of losable little bets
and no guavas to speak of
(maybe ten
at the extremities
and small)
having determined
(though surely
not in these words)
to transition
from productive
to ornamental
like the tin flour sifter
or the washboard
mounted on a wall
to conjure earlier periods
of harder work.
kikuyu grass
grass thread rises round an infant bay—
potted, mulched, kept from dying.
it clenches young roots below—
irremovable until the tree’s thick enough
to tolerate the wire knife cinch
of staunch cords pulled free.
left alone kikuyu burgeons
not as blade frond or whisker
but airy lateral weaving—
tufted tentacles lightly stacked—
ant ladders locking moisture in.
its light-battered, parched yellow canopy
buffers microclimate below—
holds encouragement from old rain
right through summer.
its partners upwell
to predetermined altitudes
on seasonal frequencies
blocked for occasional use.
it swims through pond—
a drinking dragon beard and after
takes the gauntlet back, bidding
to blanket any stationary rise.
the hillocks could be sand dunes
cisterns or rusted utes.
push button dunescape slaughterer
colonial cow carpet smotherer
all mother in harsh times
tomorrow’s tough loving wet nurse
night thoroughfare dreamed up by eels
kikuyu slips countrywide from estuary
to koi pond and back again.
Nathaniel Calhoun supports teams that preserve biodiversity and reconstruct ecosystems both in the Amazon and around Aotearoa New Zealand. He lives in the Waikato. A link to his freely available work can be found at his Twitter profile @calhounpoems.