She's someone who holds her arms wide
for a flood of pencil pukus
from Neverland
and shares her bones with
human glass.
She's someone who waves two stumps
at grinning teens, wheeling bloated bags
out of Everyone's Home
and sweeps see-through shards
away.
She's someone who sleeps on a bed
of wet card after her overburdened home
crumpled
but still, she wears a crown of
pretty purple grateful people.
* puku is a te reo Māori word meaning stomach/belly
YOU ARE READING
Waiting for the Rain to Fall
PoetryPoems that twine thread around the broken bits of a soul, that fling umbrella lips into beaming buckets and kind of just make you want to say, "life is beautiful, isn't it?" - a totally unbiased review from me, the author.
