Category: New Zealand
Persistence of Memory
by Josie
Ribbed and scurrying, a bus passes me; the sweat in airy beads drips to my bicycle knees. I am going everywhere, today. The ride is smooth, my mind is loose, the breeze is flesh and sweeps me— snatches of light-petaled afternoons. Pedalling backpacks to Point Chevalier, to the holy lips of Auckland harbours. Eager gusts helping me over wire-knit fences. The trees, bent … Read More Persistence of Memory
Life with Cosmo
by Josie
The shadowy evening cast itself long against the sign pole. Stirling Point, the “southern-most point of New Zealand”–not even the southern-most point of Bluff–hung there, suspended, like some glorious trophy I would have given back for more time. My body ached. Electricity was zip-lining through me, pulsing in the backs of my knees, the creases of my elbows, the temple vein. Max, Arwed, … Read More Life with Cosmo
Theories on “Maturity”
by Josie
There I was, sitting cross-legged on that big stone in the middle of the creek. The mountains were celebrating or something, cause the water barely lapped halfway up the stone; if I straightened my legs out they wouldn’t touch water at all. It was high summer, too, it being the southern hemisphere–ever felt a day this warm in January? Not me. The trees lining … Read More Theories on “Maturity”
Point Vierge
by Josie
It feels funny to be wearing a rain coat : the beckoning dawn counts my steps as I walk, stiff in the hips from a restless night, empty in places, shuffling along dark streets opened by a cloudy moon and the distant bellow of early ships coming in to port. It’s funny because it’s raining–little kisses from clouds cast patchy against the moon, … Read More Point Vierge
Mana
by Josie
Not a moment goes by that I see you proper : befit in tropical fern cloak ; a royal sunset from purple streak’d Ranganui ; peaks alight with unfathomable age drifts and shades of wisdom ; a thousand mirror words that instinct rise but I do not understand my mind too full, my heart too far.
Preference
by Josie
I am freshly washed and yet do not feel up for sale. I pass a table of soaps lined like soldiers against a creamy cloth shapes of ice cream cones and tea cups smelling like oatmeal pumpkin and honeydew lavender.
Afternoon Tea
by Josie
I write to you next to a cup of tea. It rests against a sliding glass door, which opens to the patio vineyard; lolling grapes drape down in the prime of their season, timeless and delicious, at nighttime we eat them like popcorn in the sunroom and put the extra bunches in a bowl of water in the fridge for tomorrow. At the top … Read More Afternoon Tea
Wellington Central Library
by Josie
. I’m delighted by the brave women and men who fall asleep in public library chairs. Sometimes bold to go for the window seats, the ones commanding view of the civic square, full shine of lunchtime yogis and sushi advocates. I take my lunchtime time to doze, thank you, they seem to say in endless gape of mouth, a stream of hahhhhhhhh hands nestled … Read More Wellington Central Library
Frequently Wrong, Never in Doubt: Plans for the Future
by Josie
Helene and Andrew, who I worked for as a chef at Il Forno, offered their daughter’s spare mattress for my sleeping purposes for the time between the end of my au pair contract, on the 21st of December, and when my parents would rock into the Auckland airport on January 3rd. Thus I spent my Christmas in a kiwi fashion, with barbecued pizzas, … Read More Frequently Wrong, Never in Doubt: Plans for the Future
How I Get My News
by Josie
I never regret not reading the news. The front page headlines written by an aware individual who keeps delight on the simmer at having found the story of the missing child-rape case first. The television stations, projecting visions of chaos injecting emotion to hype it all up get you going, get the fires lit, get the smoke signals out honey, we’re not going … Read More How I Get My News
Moment of Sentience
by Josie
Naked toes nestle into the folds of my hammock, which swings, easy, like the gentle head nod that accompanies soulful conversation—the air massages the oak leaves above, and the four of us are in holy existence; synchronized we inhale and loosen. How sublime does it feel to be aware of all this. And to wonder:
