Marsh Selina Tusitala - Fast Talking PI

Half moons ago people were hollowed-out tablets of stone spaces were given them according to spaces they left some of these spaces were filled with pages ink leaching out great deeds done marginalia filled with greater ones other spaces were filled with fee sliding on story after story older ones wrapped in thundering fagogo younger ones rapping ill semantics other spaces were filled with carved blocks of wood cocooned in tissue-thin mulberry these long hollow spaces echoed the beat of years heavy with folded legs and the thump thump of old women beating some spaces were filled with darkness no light would shine there other spaces werent spaces at all but blistering mirages no wind would blow there other spaces were filled with va these were warmed with the breath of others the thrum of matua tausi even if she was just another mirage other spaces were hard suffocating stone eyes calcifying in other spaces hovered pouliuli te kore, a nothingness, a yawning galaxy into these spaces the young would dip their forefingers rubbing the blackness on their lips a moko mapping where they had been and where they were to go some spaces have pink retro bean-bags in the corner cups of gumboot tea on the floor upturned books in punched-out hollows some spaces are filled with the music of hands faataupati, not theatre applause eyes open, mouths clapped shut but open-mouthed choo-hoo! malie! some spaces are filled with no dancing no flying fingers soaring wind no shuffling of hips no siva no tauolunga no light in the body some spaces are tied with rubber bands trying to render control over black unruly spaces a parting and a plaiting of space a twisting of space into a bun some spaces are filled with sunlight soap from the kagamea laughing over rocks into the ocean where a dead Alsatian floats under a net of flies caught underneath the makeke pier some spaces are brown some are blue o lou igoa Tusitala
je mappelle Marchant flow in and out turning space sinopia

we all know the calabash breakers the hinemoas the mauis the younger brother the only sister the orphan the bastard child with rebellious blood we all know the hierarchies the tapu the boundaries always crossed by someone petulant we all know the unsettled the trouble makers the calabash breakers they sail the notes of our songs stroke the lines of our stories and reign in the dark hour we should know them we now need them to catch bigger suns

chris abani said hone said the only land I am is that between my toes but anne read that hone said the only land I have is that between my toes then michele said selwyn said hone had said which is why chris had written its the difference between being and owning surging and standing living and landing she said shed read he said have not am I keep the am anyway then ken said ron mason said it first

If Updike could do it why couldnt she? Surely the forest of books the cropped rows of frames lining his house shouldnt make that much difference? Surely if he can rent a one bedroomer in Paris clear his schedule six mornings a week and write publish a novel five days after each childs birth be inspired by his wifes art and write travel to Rio de Janeiro one week Geneva the next and write pick up a baby smell her neck and write feed the rabbit watch it jump and run and write teach and read prop up solid oak lecterns argue with publishers move house four times and write be acclaimed and famed and write wipe the literary slate clean and write drop off famous writers pick up famous painters add an extension to the house to write and write do parent-father things on Thursdays and write speak for money write for money at The New Yorker and write enthuse over critical reviews and Burt Brittons drawings and write why couldnt she? She just needed to clear the sink wipe the bench and write be inspired by encrusted cups and write travel with the vacuum down the hall into four bedrooms and write pick up the kids from school and write publish school walking bus committee notices and write be inspired by an overgrown lawn and write teach and read to the kids pick up a baby smell her neck and write change the baby feed the baby watch him jump and run and write prop up the finances argue with the parking warden move house four times and write exclaim and rage and write wipe the baby tip to toe and write drop off the DVDs drop off the school-age kids pick up groceries add a second washing line and write be parent-helper on Thursdays and write work for money twice a week 6 am to 9 pm and write enthuse over her sons stories the other sons drawings and write wash bath and feed and write clean out the fridge in the closet behind the couch and write disinfect the toilet find the missing rolls get the rego and WoF and write read for work and write write for work and write work to write yeah right

I stretched into a song with sun playing the body long and caramel in the kitchen Annes popping sing bubbles away rewind/stop/play I am her hi-fi audience offering ears for binding by the chords in her throat she is every mean chant every highfaluting prayer every ululating bass guitar every saxophone soliloquy she is an orchestra calling to arms those brave enough to sing meaty in the delight their fingers press from each HBd chord stop/rewind she chants while I saut gravy beef, onions, garlic a little olive oil she chants while I cook vermicelli I cut while translucent chords float inflecting the water bubbling its song on the Atlas the sun bends the chord and Anne begins to boil I chant with my fingers knead words like kalino kalinche and purple sky woman into the dough slap spoons stirring soy sauce into sapasui