A new poem by Auckland-based writer and performer Hadassah Grace.
in quarantine mirrors reminded us we exist
with eyes closed, skin is still
cotton candy in a puddle
bones, watercolour and damp paper
arms and teeth are curtains on fire
now every gleaming shop window
is a gleaning mother
did you wash your hair?
are you standing up straight?
you’re talking to yourself again
without clothes we are 10 metres tall
small enough to hide in the fibres of the carpet
the pinch of bra straps keeps heads
from flying free, balloons to choke dolphins
this is why hermit crabs wear shells
would you carry your house if you could? but
we suppose the walk to work
stops the walls from shrinking
we have everything we need here
in these homes
in the palms of our hands
just now the world is a fist
scared to uncurl in case the fingers drift away
The Spinoff Weekly compiles the best stories of the week – an essential guide to modern life in New Zealand, emailed out on Monday evenings.