Iona Winter

Category: consciousness

  • breeze

    in the city flags hang limp waiting for the breeze to perform fire escape stairwells rust while refuse expands in black plastic dysmorphic bodies move and i cannot catch my breath but at home the wind will rip meat from my bones lifting my gaze from the interior the birds will huddle i realise i’ve always been the one…

  • fall

    iridescent feathers lift from tiny nests and twirl earthwards another season leaves have begun their descent and I wonder where you are   I cannot shape you from the soil but wish it was possible we all need to be anchored to something   the sound of you has taken shape in my mouth moth-wing-beat against paned glass…

  • intuit

    listen to quiet in the rustle of leaves and ferocious applause from the seventh wave see beauty in harakeke choked by convolvulus and respect the latticework of a bruise smell the sweetness of rotten fruit beneath trees and tī kōuka flowers at night taste the depth of freshly turned earth and the…

  • womb

    kaleidoscopic web veined whenua blood suspended   kākano undulating anointed and ripe   taonga omnipotent infinite womb

  • shackle

    a formerly acquainted terror surges forth from a throwaway line disrupting the equilibrium and held breath locks tight vigilant fractured edges on a shackled network of memory etched skin

  • Eggshell

    I fish around the bowl, for bits of eggshell that have dropped. “No yolk, only the whites,” my grandmother’s mantra. The shell eludes me. A small piece darts around the layers of white—thick and deceptive. Like lies, I think to myself. Like lies.

  • Filigree

    Ngahere-forest-bush-woodland filigreed leaves underfoot trunks delicately lichened offer canopied shelter within.   In limitless peace it all ends and begins kākāriki shoots are embedded in the cracks between stones as am I.  

  • tendril

    i dream of subtle touch  silken-tendril-cobwebs where morning dew clings ahead of its release earthwards   your facial contour as familiar as lines on my palm why does my skin remember the pulse of you beneath it?   i dream of subtle touch silken-tendril-spiderwebs where morning dew clings

  • kōwhai

    I walk at night to different sounds as the land stills herself and breathes out my ears always pick up more when my sight is less. Beneath ancient kōwhai trees with blackened skin I allow myself to be showered by their blossoms. My story has no beginning or end but is a bundle of kelp multi–stranded and…

  • kāinga

    up here the city is like a war zone sirens-helicopters-violence with indigenous forms commodified on buildings and some of my friends will say they’re immune   i’m impatient for harakeke wind-song old gnarled scented-blossom trees and familiar paths out to the pā kāinga-home beckons me   up here people live under concrete bridges amidst the steady hum of traffic to lull them to sleep while governments refuse to tackle poverty…