I come from a massive sycamore tree.
From climbing away the trunk and the leaves,
To chase my brother who was  lithe
and would climb to the top and sway
in the wind, like the branches
I come from shouting ‘Don’t fall -remember the kid next door who fell and broke their leg!’
We’d laugh at that and hang on, reckless.

I come from the rusty Holden my Dad would drive,
To drop us off at St Pats dances, all giggles
and secrets and embarrassment, I come from
Wham, Cyndi Lauper, and Tears for Fears.
from nothing ever lasts forever.

I come from strong friends and endless
Sunday bike rides, from mud and puddles
and tyres and chippy sandwiches, from hours
wasted on the phone when my dad would shout,
‘Who are you talking to?!’

I come from music, my dad on drums, in a band,
Called Rhythm and Brass. Me
on the saxophone but I had to practice
in the garage because it was a hell of a racket!

I come from the wild, the bush the native trees
Possums and bats, tuis and wetas
Warm Christmas days and a cold July
I come from the gap in the Ozone, the Pacific Ocean
I come from ‘no nukes’ the Rainbow Warrior.
I am tangata whenua – a person of the land.

I come from love and generosity and 80’s advertisements
Warmth and believing girls can do anything
Slowly warming to I can too,
I come from Aotearoa
from the land of the long white cloud,

And now I am here.

Maree Grant