Too by Alice Te Punga Somerville written 240512.
It’s too hot on my porch today:
a concentrated dose of Toronto sun which was gently diluted in winter months
is burning a hole in the pocket of the day,
pressing into my black clothes;
it’s too bright to read Indigenous theory off white paper here.
It’s too colonial in my country today:
Four sentences, three Maori, two jailterms, one judge, zero justice,
and meanwhile a budget which catches the crumbs as they fall off the table,
places them back on laden plates
rather than letting them fall like gentle rain from heaven
to the disenfranchised who have come to depend upon them.
It’s too distracting in my body today:
a heartful, a mindful, a dreamful of love
obsessed and smiling, I try to keep focus:
such depth of connection, such delicate urgent intimacy
such lightness of being
feels inappropriate in these too-hot colonial times.
Pick up coffee cup and printed pages, open the screen door, walk back inside
My eyes take longer to arrive than the rest of my body;
they’re still adjusted for the brightness outside
I bump into things, blind, while I wait for my whole self to arrive,
and realise this is the only worthwhile way to proceed anyway
All of me, all at once:
anger, frustration, cynicism, hope
and, in the centre as well as the outer reaches, love.
retrieved from her blog page
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