Kia Tonu

Kia Tonu (Be Still)
Or alternatively: You fools thought I was done with earthquake poems
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There was another aftershock on Monday. 1.56am and there it was -
a message from my mother. "5.7 we are okay. haven't heard from Jodi
everyone's evacuated."
My sister was under her desk at work with a customer
screaming and holding on to a complete stranger
while five years of PTSD progress came crashing,
crashing,
crashing down.

A bottle of bourbon hit a woman on her head.
An old lady had a heart attack and was aided by a fifteen year old.
Someone's cat was killed because a statue fell on him.

I didn't sleep that night.

I'm on the other side of the world now but that didn't stop the flashbacks,
the dreams, the fear.
When you live in Christchurch
you put your life on the line every day just to be there.
Everyone I love is there.
Tatou tatou e.

Godley Head just fell right into the ocean. Godley Head,
where I spend summer days, drifting in and out with the wind, the sea;
where I bring friends to show them my favourite spots;
where I feel peace, where I feel music, where I feel home.

Stop taking my happy places from me.

The Cathedral lost more of its walls.
The official Rebuild Christchurch page swore.
The supermarkets and petrol stations had queues out the doors again.
The Student Volunteer Army got their shovels out and began to clean up
the streets covered in liquefaction - silt oozing out of the ground, the earth's
blood, except when it heals it doesn't leave a scar. It's not thick and strong
it's weak and famished and vulnerable and who knows
how many more quakes this city can take.
14,244 - that's how many aftershocks there's been in five years.
Fourteen thousand - and that's not counting the ghost shakes.
The wind that rattles the house, the door slams that make the house shake
because your it has terrible foundations now. The trains, the trucks,
the sirens, the roadworks, the sudden noises that make you remember
the shaking, the shaking, the shaking.
Kia kaha, kia kaha, kia kaha.

How can they call it post-traumatic stress disorder
when the quakes keep coming, you're forced once again
to run for the doorframe, check on your family, look for your cat,
pick the books up off the floor and wonder why you haven't just
resigned to getting a kindle, pick your whole life up off the floor
and put it neatly back onto shelves, knowing full well
they'll just be falling over again soon.

Every heartbeat is just another aftershock. They live with you,
taunting and rattling and moving your life. You are helpless.

There's a moment when you hear the first distant rumble
when your body has to decide whether to run or to stay.
My great grandmother used to shake her fist at the sky during aftershocks.
She's gone now, and so am I. I ran, far across the oceans
where nothing can hurt me. I wonder if she'd be disappointed in me
for leaving. (Kia maia, kia maia, kia maia - I hear her whispering.)
There's not a fault line in the entire continent.
But when I tell people where I'm from,
they don't understand the weight I carry when I say -

Otautahi, Aotearoa.
I'm with you, Christchurch I'm with you,
I wish you aroha, mana, steady hearts when the land won't be still,
be still, be still toku ngakau pauri, be still.

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You ask for more unedited rants: I deliver