Mōteatea
Iona Winter
The mōteatea enclosed in my chest
aches to be released
tangi te mapu
I must draw breath
Silently I witness
people’s meaningless words
render mine unspoken
‘I’m sorry for your loss’
What the fuck does that mean?
I wish they would stop
New lava etches
across my heart
joining solidified tracks
of those before you
did you know that my teardrops
contain all of the oceans?
The mōteatea enclosed in my chest
aches to be released
tangi te mapu
I must draw breath
I want to call you back
from wherever you have gone
we’re not done yet
you didn’t give me time
but I see Papatūānuku
now greets your bones
You are in me
our hands
all of our mothers’ hands
are kākano-womb-seed reminders
that scratch at my belly
like a ngāngara tail
The mōteatea enclosed in my chest
aches to be released
tangi te mapu
I must draw breath
Mōteatea, by Ōtepoti-based writer and poet, Iona Winter, responds to the 2018 exhibition, What should I do now, with my hands? by Melbourne-based practitioner, Beth Caird featuring work by Faith Wilson. This exhibition bought together Caird's continuation of a focus on grief processes and life-after-death experiences, self-made myths and the truth buried under fabrications.
For more information and to view documentation of the exhibition, click here.
Iona Winter is of Māori (Waitaha) and Celtic descent, and lives on the East Otago coast. Her short stories, poetry, and essays have appeared in many New Zealand and international publications. The recipient of the 2016 Headland Frontier Prize, she has performed at the Edinburgh International Book Festival, and in 2018 was shortlisted with the Bath Novella-in-Flash Award. Passionate about Aotearoa, Iona writes in hybrid forms that highlight the intersection between written and spoken word. Through a profound connection with nature she weaves past, present and future, traditional and contemporary, to create a bicultural melding of the worlds she inhabits.