A new poem by Nicola Andrews (Ngāti Paoa, Pākehā), from their debut poetry collection Overseas Experience, published by Āporo Press in early June.

Haere Rā, Department Store

It is an institution.
Just about as old as a treaty,
and around the corner from that
stationers, that isn’t there anymore.

Consider it, on opening day:
Registers cracking open like laughter,
dutiful recording of new accounts,
brass warming, herringbone settling.

How will you use our reo?

Our reo will be used
as an introduction
to the latest textures of luxury:
washcloths, women’s hats in blackened straw,
gowns of suppression and coverings for sleep,
worsted socks, men’s suits in a deep blue weave,
stiffened shirts to be broken in with hard work,
yards of staunch calico in overcast grey,
and always with the blankets,
as if our moni could buy your refinement,
as if we couldn’t keep our people warm.

How will we tend our reo?

Our reo will be cared for
like a final blazing fingernail
summoning us up the maunga:
from Mā is White and Kia Ora Shortland Street,
to searing letters to the editor, transcribed in triplicate,
kura kaupapa kids coaching their parents through self-checkout,
Whaea Pahi chiming, ā tērā tūnga pahi Tiriti o Queen
as kaumatua and mokopuna stream outwards, marching proudly:
Toitū te Tiriti, From the Awa to the Moana, Not One Acre More
each kupu, karakia, kōrero, a seedling in the forest,
each utterance a sonic hīkoi, a devotion

Does anyone know the reo for Chanel?

Āue. When the chandeliers darken,
and the bouquets greet the compost,
the Numakete outpost thanks its loyal patrons
in English

When Te Waka o Rangi departs,
Animatronic cherubs in grass skirts
bob gently, paddling their canoe
under a single flag.

Haere Rā.