Sunday, April 12, 2015

A Poem by Mercedes Webb-Pullman

Tane, Tu and Rongo

Ignore the Water Maiden
gnawing at corpses.  For her it's always
clouds or stars.  She thinks
her grandfather invented the world,
something to do with forestry.
His old friends still live out west;
one a paid albino assassin, the other
a cross-dressing macrobiotic
moon-planting earth-mother
who grows great dope.
If monsters walk out
of the waves and sing,
don't listen.  Weapons are
everywhere.  Her aunts
are into birds because
of all the trees, sixty-three
generations of light canoes.
The Water Maiden has no idea
her grandfather is a hero.
To some, he's the sun.
She thinks he's a horny
old has-been.

Mercedes Webb-Pullman graduated from IIML Victoria University Wellington with MA in Creative Writing in 2011.  Her poems and the odd short story have appeared online, in print and in her books Food 4 Thought, Numeralla Dreaming, After the Danse, Ono, Looking for Kerouac, Tasseography, Bravo Charlie Foxtrot and Collected Poems 2008-2014.  She lives on the Kapiti Coast, New Zealand.

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