AMBER ESAU
TASI / G R E E _
Two baby sharks swirl at the edge of the moana,
the gloss of a plastic fork flashing on their fins.
Once the waves settle, a Mantis runs through
holding a machete, disturbing the water,
flicking it up with sand like a stiff-limbed taupou
stomping into a fiafia night. The baby sharks
are minding their business, are more graceful than
a holiday sale, while this Mantis traces a circle
around their fins to cut them into rare pendants later.
The baby sharks dance and sway, told not to be so alluring
as they flip around the Mantis’s legs like the
arms of a plastic bag clinging to a foot.
C:\MEMORY
Without a body \ or a clue / the sky is vinyl \ the clouds spill on and wipe off, easy / the stars clang on a bucket \ beak-tipped like shadow puppets / the grass is astroturf \ a welcome mat before a cliff / to finally step on and be stepped on \ the Madonna / the whore \ gets into the groove of the gutters / of something twinned \ in something bots / a cyborg orgasm \ as old as time still fucks / How could I \ not trust you to define me / the \ nah, bo / the spiky green \ flapping flax in sour lemon light / so clean it burns \ the quick save / a shivering line without signs \ that won’t relieve us / won’t not slap us \ in a box / when we’re this damn close \ to outlines / out in a field of bloody pisupo tins \ this home drive / stings my eyes on waking \ so out of action / still, though \ without the smoke / is the bible a Virgo?
?
You hand me bitter stalks and bulbs
and we scoff the small, dried, dirty sponges.
We chase them with sips of L&P and our mouths
get sickly sweet, blotting the aftertaste
like swallowing tears.
On a wooden bench in a high-school garden,
we press together and I watch your fog
circle me awkwardly.
Moths in my stomach
bite holes through me.
Finally, the concrete undulates; I shiver
and you let me warm my hands in your pockets.
Some loves will chew on moments that make them wince.
Most loves will try to clean up any mess
but leave trails of pulled wings behind them.
None of that matters yet. We shuffle closer,
sharing one earphone each,
a wishbone that crackles but doesn’t break,
a y-shape we tack on to describe each other.
Amber Esau is a SāMāoRish (Ngāpuhi / Manase) writer from Tāmaki Makaurau. She is a poet, storyteller, and professional bots. She has a BCA from Manukau Institute of Technology, an MA from the International Institute of Modern Letters, and co-edited the queer poetry anthology Spoiled Fruit (Āporo Press, 2023). These poems are from her debut collection Hungus (Te Herenga Waka University Press, 2026).