trout

Blue under

Mariana Isara

For a year
no tūī
sang in my finger
bones. I pasted tūī
tui tui tui tui tui tui
into my empty
laptop. It was the string
of my sorrow strung
like Rangi's sobs
along a night-stinger's den.
So I sang alto with Hine-nui-te-pō.
Her voice was a husky
bass grained with the whiskey
of midnights.
I slept with a boy
named Kahurangi
it was not the colour
of the sky. Stevie Nicks
was singing Thunder…
and then I poured for days.
His eyes were eyes of sleeping
pill blue. I broke my middle finger
off to suck
out the bone marrow
to play the Blues.
Hirini Melbourne once said
that human bones
make the best flutes.
And it is true.