Waiting room triad
I face the door, eyes closed, wait for the kuia from my moemoeā
to arrive. She will step into this room like a feisty maunga
dismantling into an outgoing tide. Glow like fading embers.
Flick. My eyes roller-blind open. Focus on a patient at reception.
She sees me. Seers me. Sails the mopped floor of diagnosis
and disease. We hongi. Kiss cheeks. Sit quietly on cheapskate
chairs opposite a television screwed to the wall.
Utu, she explains. A blood transfusion was the portal. An
enemy with mākutu flair slept within a donor’s toto. One whiff
of my whakapapa - he woke up - greedy to settle old scores.
Steered a waka taua through red tides infusing my tinana. Ha!
That sneaky bastard gave colonial troops a runaround in his day.
I was a sitting duck!
I’ve swallowed pills for five years. Hormone suppressors to starve
breast cancer. They take the wāhine out of me. Make me hōhā.
Weak.
We admire the intricacies of utu. The enemy’s tenacity. The way
he hunkered down, patiently nursed a grudge through bloodlines.
Waited to strike.
At least it ends with me. Balance is restored. My whānau safe.
No way I can talk to doctors about this. Auē!
We laugh. Roll our eyes at how casually we censor truth. Whitewash talk.
Hine-nui-te pō is waiting. Not long now.
Serie Barford was born in Aotearoa to a German-Samoan mother and a Pālagi father. Her most recent poetry collection, Sleeping with Stones, was shortlisted for the 2022 Ockham New Zealand Book Awards.
