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Emily Wright
New Zealand

Enigmatic blue on a weekly basis Andy Leleisi'uao
Enigmatic blue on a weekly basis - Andy Leleisi'uao
Emily Wright is studying at Auckland University and is an emerging poet.
Originally from the United Kingdom, she now resides in New Zealand and her writing is from her experiences in Auckland.

Auckland Love Poem

Crazy music. Sam kept on playing
so we walked all the way up to Mt Eden
to clear our lazy heads. There, the world
was secondhand wire and wool. It got a bit chilly, the whole of Auckland
lined up for inspection, enthusiastic but not quite
entering into the spirit of things.
The houses glowed from this distance like pears
but we were thinking more in terms of grids and maps
you told me how you liked owning sets of lego
when you were quite young. You wouldn't have saved up for Auckland
this lingering immigrant's mess, these trees too green
to be realistic, everything too bright
to be tasteful, these houses
too full of families and hibiscus.
It's too Pacific kitsch for words. It's your grandma's kitchen
and she feeds me like I'm a  baby melon
and I'm too skinny. You're taking after her.

Don't worry, it must be the weather

you have been uneasy, lately
and you say it's the weather. Yeah, well.
I have noticed. It's been hot
and damp, like, the kind of day
where you can't walk up to the dairy
without your clothes curling in on themselves, your breath
flying away in quick hot takes.
It's been that kind of day, this week.
That kind of yellow day where
you can't even make it to the local swimming pool
without crumpling up
in the first sanctuary, the first shade, digging
your fingers into the burnt soil, saying
I know how far we've been together but
I'm sorry, I can go no further.
It's that kind of ugly glare
in the sky, that kind of running-for-the-bus
slow motion screwing up
of my life and yours
into a bundle with no air between.
It's a head tossing on a pillow
an aurora of dark hair
sweat-spangled on the white cotton universe.
It's the beads in your eyes
losing all their grace, the sparkle of tears
stolen and mocked by the sweat running everywhere.
It's you not telling me the truth
cos there's not enough room between us to let it in.
Yeah I know this kind of day. I know
you too well. You're giving up.