I stood at the edge and claimed it as central…

Dandifil

after Toni Morrison

I arrived to meet the ancestors at the edge of the world. 

I arrived breathless, dripping of sweat, snot and tears and my jaws clenched so hard my vision blurred. 

At least ko oti te ta’ua. 

They say my ancestors were the first surveyors 

of the ocean, some of the first to master 

and practice aerodynamics. 

Engari i luga i te maunga nei, 

They say I might be the first of this ancient agni, 

first of this ocean salt to be given flesh and bone. 

Koia anō, seki oti loa te ta’ua, 

I take a deep breath, hoping that if I breathed hard enough 

my jaw would relax and my head would hurt less. 

I bring my eyelids together tightly and in the nothingness, 

there is no noise, seai se logoa. 

I wish I could tell you a story full of joy and childhood dreams. I’m scared that once I start speaking though, 

I’d tell you a story of abandoned dreams and sacrifices. 

and I called the world to me - an expansion

My people and I are masters of storytelling; 

blending humour, suspense and caution all together. 

This is the story of a powerful edge walker

who claimed the ocean as theirs through birthright. 

I have been an edge walker all my life. 

I’ve walked to the edge of consciousness before. 

I have arrived at the edge of the world on the cliff 

of creation and have always found myself 

seconds away from the edge of destruction. 

Even at the edge of a knife, 

I have learnt to wield power, 

to walk into agni 

unscathed, 

to survive 

with mind and soul intact. 

I have always been an edge walker, 

but 

these days the wind gifts me stories from Hawaiki, 

lullabies that soothe weathered spirits. 

Gossip that is now ancient. 

I have always been an edge walker, 

but these 

days the ocean rises to greet me, 

promising healing, change 

and power. 

I have always been an edge walker, 

but these days

I bow and mountains of ancestors bow back. 

Their joy is immense, their stories legendary. 

These legends, they say, are mine too, 

that I must carry them beneath my skin 

so that the world never forgets. 

At the edge of the waking world, 

the wind pulls me into an ancient agni. 

“We have all been edge walkers,” the wind whispers, 

stealing my breath and using it to fan new flames. 

Through this ancient agni we must pass – first at birth, 

then at death, and many more times in between. 

They draw me singing songs of wayfinding and 

somewhere someone whispers,

as I arrive at the edge of reality, 

“it is merely your turn.”