Corollas in Early Spring
In the dark before dawn (my bed still warm)
I step down into sacred space and light
a candle. In the absense of myrrh I release
the calm of lavender. My chant lifts
like smoke from incense wafting in the wind.
With the sun I rise. I have moved lighter
this whole week, ever since
I stepped into a loan car, a 1996 Toyota.
The car hummed over the hill
with surprising verve. I felt years
fall from me as the Corolla sped along Parkway,
64kms in a 50km zone. As if we had travelled
back in time, a key that still turned in ignition
the smell of footmats carelessly left in the wet
since 1996, low rider girl racer car
with a stick shift. In the rear view mirror
I envisioned the maiden goddess’s corolla
– a little crown made of willow, woven
with the brights of spring; camellias, daffodils,
iris, snowdrops and a tiny cerise bloom
of unknown name. A corolla can be defined
as a whorl of petals which enclose
the pistil and stamens within
a circle of colour. Inside the Corolla
I felt past future and present merge
with the accelerator. The WoF has two months
before expiry, then the car will be sold
for scrap. The rust in her body has gone
too far, but that pep, the sing of her engine -
one hundred percent pure maiden energy.
Abra Sandi King is a member of the Meow Gurrrls poetry collective. A valley dweller, she lives in Hutt City, Aotearoa. You can read more of her poems at wordsdofly.com
