It’s been five weeks
since they tore me open
from my uterus
up to my cervix
stitches still pass whole
tiny tukutuku crosses
tātai whetū on toilet paper
It’s been four weeks
since I started pumping
into te pō
over bowls of cereal
whole bags of chips
the hum and suck of the machine
a taunting rhythmic oriori
It’s been three weeks
since my pēpi would sleep
in her own bed
this is my home
she screams
where were you
when I was born?
It’s been two weeks
since I heard a Ruru call
during the midnight feed
I ignored the warning
told myself it felt magical
the world around me turns still
it felt good to have company
It’s been one week
since I last washed my hair
It punishes me by
falling out in handfuls
I look in the mirror
my breasts a Kahukiwa painting
rivers of salt and milk form around my feet
A Dr plays me Waerea from her UE Boom
my face in her gloved hands
she strokes my cheek with each trill
laughs out loud when I suggest WAP as the back-up track
Outside, those laughs bounce past Hine-nui-te-pō
echo down the corridor away from us all
Hine-te-iwaiwa throws her arms around my tāne’s shoulders
moves his gaze by the jaw away from the door.
I float above myself
inspect the cysts,
a juicy string of pearls on my ovaries
marvel at the mirrored tray of tools
all made beautiful, encrusted with garnets
I watch them repair the tear they caused
pulling my baby from me
with the same force it took
to separate Rangi and Papa
They fill my marbled baby's damp paper bag lungs
together they breathe tīhei mauri ora
Hine-te-iwaiwa strokes Papa’s back, they send karakia
as he ties her pito with Barbie hair muka
I climb back into my unzipped body
watch as she goes in my place to the NICU
telling Hine-nui-te-pō to go home
on her way out the door
Suckle at this breast, e kō
let a river of creamy milk
run freely to the sea
for the mothers of Gaza
Let me hold you,
your heart to my heart
counting each hot breath
against my neck
Whisper karakia with me, my love
let our kupu travel freely
across oceans & stars
for the mothers of Gaza
Let me hold you,
your head in my hands
go safely into your dreams
I’ll be here when you return
If you stir in the night
startle and cry, my baby
let us weep freely together
for the mothers of Gaza
Let me hold you,
your small body
sheltered by mine
your back against my belly
Tomorrow you will wake next to me
warm in our bed, my darling
—let us marvel at the sound of birdsong
for the mothers of Gaza