Korea

So Hwak Haeng

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(Small but certain happiness)

Between the Feijoa and the Plum is a fledgling Kowhai

and two Rotary clotheslines like totems from the fifties

from one of which hangs her blue school woven knit shirt

firmly pegged, the water pooling at neck and shoulders

sparrows hunt worms in the dark mud patches beneath

the recently culled feijoas on the fenceline, unshaded

Riwaka hops hang fruitful against a stark concrete wall

while a once laden lemon tree tangles with a Bird of Paradise

plant that was almost smothered by a fig tree they dug out

In the asbestos riddled shed, he brews designer beers

has two fridges found on the Community Facebook page

as well as a honkytonk piano a neighbour delivered

she’s learned to mow the dandelion heads in summer

and there’s a bird nest in the garage Perspex overhang

where on their first Kiwi Christmas fairy lights were strung

after midnight, after a few ales, solar powered, hoping

to light up the surprise sandpit, buckets and hammock

they’ve planted swan plants and watched their first

ever chrysalis turn green, go black, seen a Monarch

emerge and flutter from plant to hair to air in wonder

a sunflower bends to drop its progeny, past splendour

the Christmas bikes are abandoned on the path

small planes fly low overhead like shark spotters

from the sixties when summers were endless

the BBQ is covered, tethered on a windless evening

while the rice cooker talks to itself on the bench

near the upright stove in the kitchen full of cupboards

recyclables climb up a wall close to the back door

which has a lockable fly screen and two keys leading

to a small porch with sloping paths either side

around the house they lead either way back and forth

past the garden hose, the perilla plants spreading

weeds, abandoned crocs, drink bottles, a fly swat,

several dinosaurs, multi-coloured faded chalks

grass clippings, honeybees hovering, bare feet

a quintessential Kiwi backyard including a spa


			

	
		
	


			
				


	

		
Skinship

		
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Skinship

Run the sound over your tongue
let it roll for a while in your mouth
then swallow it whole

Skinship, like kinship, meaning
connection but through the skin
as simple as holding hands

Konglish, meaning Korean
English, a new word, but
not a new feeling

Skin on skin, a hand in
yours, a touch, skinship
kinship, friendship

It’s not difficult to
guess why Korea
created this new word

Fathers holding adult
son’s hands, mothers
holding daughters

Touching, skin on
Skin, with kin 
this word

Skinship
It crosses culture
it caresses
skin on skin

The ship of affection
Skinship
Sail on you beauty

Daebak!












			

	
		
	


			
				


	

		
Lockdown Villanelle

		
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Lockdown Villanelle

(for Emma Aroha)


In lockdown she learned to wish the moon goodnight

Muddling two languages to make a new word for water

I learned to say pada and she knew it was the sea


Bashing back the Spinifex dodging spikey grasses

Chasing seagulls in circles on freshly wet sand

In lockdown she learned to wish the moon goodnight


Nana is my Kiwi name, in Korea I’m Halmoni

We talked to stars together, marvelled at the moon

I learned to say pada and she knew it was the sea


We inspected dying jellyfish followed scuttling crabs

New words emerged, that neither of us understood

In lockdown she learned to wish the moon goodnight


We ate lunches purchased from the local bakery

I discovered strawberries are also called ttalgi

I learned to say pada and she knew it was the sea


Some days we walked and talked to teddies

In the trees, on windowsills, all unexpectedly

I lifted her to wave to them her new-found friends

In lockdown she learned to wish the moon goodnight

I learned to say pada and she knew it was the sea