I remember the last time I existed.


I was wearing striped pants
& seated cross legged on a park bench
in Western park, Ponsonby.
My shift was over
    my blood circulating
        & I found myself, cross legged,
on the edge of a rain storm.

Continue reading “Choosing”


Aimlessness Suits Me


It does not appear that this sun shall set
nor the melody in my mind to cease;
I do not feel I shall ever be hungry
nor recollect that feeling of cold.
The sky mirrors my mind—
empty and warm and without agenda—
I find, in having no destination,
I have come to where I should be.

Continue reading “Aimlessness Suits Me”


Tree Hugger

I don’t belong in the concrete world.
It’s too hot for my feet
too electric for my soul.
When they ask me what I do
    I say
I count the leaves
    on any given tree
        and try not to cry too loudly

 as I contemplate the complexity.


Rushing to Wait

When I grow up, I will settle down near the last train station on the line.

It’s where I live now, a five-minute bike ride from the last station on the Western Line. My e-bike whirls as I ride up a long concrete pathway lined with rails.

Sometimes the train whooshes right past me, hurtling towards the station faster than I. Inviting me for a race, urging me on.

Sometimes, there is nothing there yet. An empty, echoing train station. The orange-vested man, sweep sweep sweeping the concrete in front of the bench. The rare passenger pacing along the platform.

But often, I see the train. Sitting. Watching my efforts with its buggy eyes. Beckoning.

Continue reading “Rushing to Wait”


My Friend, Skin


My skin sits soft upon my hands
hugs so gentle at the wrists
dances clever at the collarbone
up and up skin pours.
On my winding staircase
chin nose cheek bones
drapes my sweetheart skin.
The sun and my skin are friends.
I and my skin are


Transmitting a Different Reality

I am building my self-esteem around a sentence:

I can learn anything.

I’m not great with kids? Not a great runner? Not all that social? Not a published writer? Doesn’t matter, I remind myself (over and over again) being “great” is not my self-worth.

I’m not great with kids yet. I’m not a great runner yet. I am learning the balance between Just Josie and being social. I am learning the skills to become a great writer.

This sort of self-esteem is powerful for me; it’s less fragile than whipping up a self-esteem based on being good at anything.

It’s not, however, anti-fragile.

As I discovered, recently, after a full-dose of body-wracking misery and raging emotions.

Continue reading “Transmitting a Different Reality”




I see the sea lap the rocks
the streaky current pulsing sinuous but
& tall
my breath is still
& the wind is still—

the wind is

My cross-legged legs are streaky pulsing currents
the spine shaped by carpenters with bendy rulers
I count on one hand
all the thoughts I think—

that wind
is so

Cloudless skies in full dominion tempt forth
wise smiles
on all sides
& breathless


one hand only presence

I see the streaky sea lap the rocks.




By the hair that rises upon my forearms
midst the long sips of water I guzzle at night,
in the way that my eyelids feel
soupy     in light afternoon sun—
Holy proclamations
swaying down on silken webs
soliciting no answers.
Opening car doors and bus doors and train station cafes
clearing a table—that table—
announcing the arrival at platform seven—
hard to believe     there are so many of us.
Our humanity depends
on more     than sanity.

You asked me, once, what I thought
of angels
and I told you a lie.
I see them now—





I smell Vick’s vapor rub     and think
of my granny—      dabbing at her chapped lips
the other hand     stirring mashed potatoes     her mind
ever reeling on    child rearing     and perfect
peanut butter cookies.
Her hug     was a cavern     my body      the sea
I splash against her     and take     pieces home with me.


A Christchurch Couchsurf

When spending a day in aimless enjoyment of the surrounding scenery, of the sounds a soul makes when it hears all those birds, of the capital position of being, I get this remarkable lightness in my heels and begin to bound more than walk.

Sometimes, in between long conversations with myself, I opt for a spot of heel clicked and random dancing.

Christchurch was much this way. Lots of intermittent heel clicking, physical and metaphorical, in between long bouts of singing and self-talking.

Continue reading “A Christchurch Couchsurf”


How to Feel


In the sunshine sits a softened soul,
still but breathing
I contemplate
my gratitude—

Look here! Feel here!
Do you feel this beating heart
the coursing blood?
You sing along to the sea gulls
tho’ your eyes be dry—
the spring inside!
It is simply enough to be here
and be breathing;
Her gift to you is reverence
and a sense of proportion.
There is no perfect way to express
no finite way to be.
We are free—
don’t you feel it?! We’re free!


Here I Be


All around me are circles
bird whistles
the breeze is slow and yielding
my skin is soft the air
In my sweater I am whole
The fire that warms me is my own
and long has gone unnoticed.

Continue reading “Here I Be”