Christian

When we almost killed Christian

we were kids swinging sticks 

into the midsummer air

as tests of our strength, as if

we would know exactly how high

up the mango tree it reached.

We reached a point of boredom

where the tree was barren of fruit

and ripe with the rocks we hurled into them

each stone landing

with a deep, sonorous thunk

and a quick introduction to physics.

When Christian fell, 

his head wound bled with a certain drama

unlike other parts of the body.

We turned his face to ours

and ran our fingers through his hair;

It was the first time we ever held his head.

With shirts untucked, shoes slipping,

Our hands came back watery and warm

with blood and sweat and powdery red

from the scorched earth he lay upon,

and on my palm it was a metaphor.

To this day, the scar in his low-shaven hair 

marks an em dash in his childhood—

Joshua Toumu’a is a queer Pasifika poet and uni student living in Te Whanganui-a-Tara. He was the winner of the 2022 Schools Poetry Award, and has featured in Starling, Symposia, The Spinoff, Bad Apple and elsewhere. He's currently forming a graveyard for the digicams he's killed; may they rest in peace.