On the Spring Equinox in Auckland, I Begin to Speak of Texas
BY CHLOE HONUM
So a voice returns.
So it was winter’s dusk and now it is spring’s.
So the magnolias push a little more black
into their pink
and the grass softens and cools in the city park.
One doctor said about the law, it’s really
poorly written, probably on purpose.
To not know where to turn, who to call.
So the sparrows. So the bold pigeons.
To be caught in a net deliberately cast
over a sacred sorrow.
So a turning point. So on the other side of the world
I am walking into it. Just moments ago
these poppies were winter’s.
This wind.
Wishlist in Auckland
BY CHLOE HONUM
To see green again from the inside.
To see how the trees in Albert Park
draw the rain closer,
just before it stops, as if to speak to it alone.
To find a form, a way to unknot
the music of an undying Texas autumn
that doesn’t hurt so much,
that doesn’t require the use of my teeth.
To lift an hour out of silence, like a stone
out of a pond, even if to place it back in at the end.
And the sparrows, the sparrows,
free as ever, busy as ever, calling swift assemblies
on the chill grass in the noon mist.