The Year I Let My Heart Go Asunder

Scraping into the basin with both hands

I let the waves lap against them,

pushing my giant hands to and fro.

The waves are gentle and they make my hands bob

like moths do when they're not being harassed by lights.

 

I am crouched down on the bank of Wellington Harbour

and I am huge as the hills.

I am squatting with my bottom on Khandallah,

my feet in the harbor and the water barely splashing my ankles.

 

When I stand, I am wondrous.

 

Get back! I want to cry out 

at the men in their cars and their ships and their helicopters

slowly circling.

Get away, don't look.

 

I push them, but not with my hands

just with my mind,

not hurting them but just bending –

bending them with my mind until they go.