Mingimingi. Ponga. Horoeka. Titoki.
They are very busy, these words, doing more than describing what they stand for – various plants and bushes and trees that make up the vegetation of New Zealand – for they are also busy being
those strange far away leaves and twigs and branches on the page. Miro. Rewarewa.
How strange they are for me to write, these words packed and alive with consonants, each with its own shape, both closed and open-mouthed. Say Whauwhau
– an unknown form upon the page.
Years ago, I wrote – not a poem, for I am not a poet – one of my ‘things’, as I call the short poem-like items that sometimes appear in my work, called ‘Ngaio’. It was in a collection called 44 Things
and now I see that the