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after Fiona Clark
Whaitara. Not a spring. Try to catch a face in it before
the face bends and wrinkles. Runs away and frowns.
Becomes unfamiliar. Tells you it belongs to. From the
maunga to the methanol plant. A face that does not stop.
It reaches the sea. Whaitara. You are an exemplary activist.
You dress with a friend in skirts and hats. And you are
who I want to be. Looking over the tanks.
The smoke and the runoff. Not holding signs but being your characters.
Sitting in the field.
Sitting by the rocks.
Sitting by your friends.
Sitting by the factory. Whaitara.
You watch a river of my ancestors. You listen to the sea.
You are the face of an art student on Karangahape Road.
Once a tomboy. Once a performer. Now reflected
in the camera’s eye. Blue eyeshadow. On the girls
and girls you like. Whaitara. Bodybuilders.
Tuakana arriving in gowns. Dancers on and off the stage.
You keep them alive and documented. For yourself.
Whaitara. For the gallery goers. Thirty years later.
You travel from the milking shed. Bring their faces
to Ngāmotu. Try to catch the feeling in it. Whaitara.
You are exemplary but. Rocks are rotting. Methanol
rises. With faces in your head. You return to the source.
The life under expression. Whaitara. Anyone you could be.
Take photos. Render a community visible. Render a cause
visible. With just your person.
Face upon face
upon face will rush past. In silence you defy. Fight the polluter.
Whaitara.
Featured photo by Tyler Lastovich on Unsplash.
