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 | Writing Wellington: Twenty Years of Victoria University Writing
Fellows |  |
5 Wairaka
She had to be punished. Couldn't
live with the humiliation.
She beat it south, squawking
like a weka, and where the coast
baulks at the corner, she looked
back and tripped, her feet
ensnared by seaweed. The little
bush birds, attending her,
begged me to forgive
her,
but my heart was stone. It wasn't
good the thing I had to do—
turned her into the monstrous
rock of ill omen that's named
for her—Wairaka. Sort
of miss her, though, glowing
black eyes, black hair tumbling to her
bottom—lovely, that. Could
weep, thinking of her and
how it used to be . . . Ah, well,
that about wraps it up,
yeah, that's about it.
Kia ora.
live with the humiliation.
She beat it south, squawking
like a weka, and where the coast
baulks at the corner, she looked
back and tripped, her feet
ensnared by seaweed. The little
bush birds, attending her,
70
but my heart was stone. It wasn't
good the thing I had to do—
turned her into the monstrous
rock of ill omen that's named
for her—Wairaka. Sort
of miss her, though, glowing
black eyes, black hair tumbling to her
bottom—lovely, that. Could
weep, thinking of her and
how it used to be . . . Ah, well,
that about wraps it up,
yeah, that's about it.
Kia ora.
| Writing Wellington: Twenty Years of Victoria University Writing
Fellows | |