Kurangaituku by Whiti Hereaka

Kurangaituku by Whiti Hereaka

Author:Whiti Hereaka
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Huia (NZ) Ltd
Published: 2021-06-15T00:00:00+00:00


TE WHAIAO

Though we have been separated by life, by death, by time, our wairua are bound. Two bodies of water intermingled, flowing as one. Flowing through time, through life, through death and, I allow myself to believe, love.

But is love so neglectful, so forgetful? I am consumed by you. Take everything from me, I give it freely.

Here is my hupe.

Here are my roimata.

Here is my toto.

But you are like a rock—unmovable. I must contort myself around the thought of you.

Can you see me now before you? A bird, a woman, a bird-woman. I opened myself up to the story; it and I are no longer separate. I have shaped it and it has shaped me. The down on my breast and belly gave way to skin. Naked from clavicle to pubis, I am exposed. I’ve made my heart vulnerable. The pain I feel is exquisite and overwhelming—it pulsates in time with my heart.

Am I hideous or beautiful to you? How do you see me?

This monster.

This giant.

This ogress.

I searched for you in the forest, lost amongst the trees. Lost amongst time. Let me wrap you in this kākahu, let me wrap you up in the world—everything here I have made for you.

My love.

My story.

Me.

I plucked my eye from its socket to give to you as a gift. A black sphere, almost perfectly round. It sat in your palm, your fingers cradling it so it did not fall. It looked like a pebble pulled from a river—glossy obsidian, with flecks of white, as if the night sky has been captured within it. Through it you have seen everything—the black, the dark, the nothingness.

You have seen the world as I have through my story. Picture me now. How do I look to you? How has your mind shaped me as I told my story? Do you recognise me as kin, calling me down from above and giving me form? Am I a mirror to you? Do you see yourself reflected in my eyes?

He kōtuku kai whakaata—a kōtuku that feeds uponits reflection.

I have fed upon you. I did not need to trap you, to sup on your mind through violence—physical or psychic—all I had to do was extend my hand to you in invitation. I opened my mind to you, and you reciprocated. I will see the world as you do.

But that is an illusion, a game we all play—the idea that any of us can truly understand what it is like to be another. That we can look upon the world with another’s eyes. Even when I looked through the eyes of miromiro, I could never be fully submerged in that reality for I was always there. His mind in my mouth was never truly his.

Just as this story was never truly mine. It can only ever exist in the space between us.

It lived in the telling.

I lived in the telling.

This is me. This giant. This monster. This ogress. Through these pages, through these words, I have lived. I have ceased to be the words on this page and have become a real being, making her nest in your brain.



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