Border Land

White Phlox—flame in Greek—tempted night-moths 
with sweetness, its rhizmones crept near fire-          
cracker-red bee balm,                                 
this Jacob,
whose  
 
propagation is by division: 
the cultivar self-seeded but did 
not grow true to                                       
the parent. I am 
forgetting:                                               
 
the Iceland Poppy: wiry stems, trans-
lucent tissue-paper petals—all 
parts likely to be 
poisonous.
But no worries:  
 
mother gave up on her garden—ours,
where I grew up—and then it 
eroded so 
slowly no                                                                    
one noticed:
 
the steep bank eating the earth (will it 
swallow the house in 50 more years?). 
I can’t remember 
the names of 
other flowers
 
or what they looked like.
This is what we call the angel’s share.
 
                                    ________
 
Strike a match—red phosphorous 
converts to white: watch 
the tip 
blacken.

                        _________
 
I tell her I think I’ll either be sheltered
or homeless. What is the same in both situations? 
she asks. The self, I say. You keep 
erasing it.                                                     
 
________
 
Quiz.  Is a mummified tattoed Maori head                             
A.  work of art. B. body part
 
While you decide: know it was  
carved with uhi (chisels) to groove and ridge, 
darkened with ngarehu (burnt timbers) and awheto
(caterpillar). Sacred, the heads were 
severed. Preserved.
 
                        __________

At dinner what is left 
are outbursts                                                   
corroding 
 
                        _________
 
Earth-scent of burnt wood drifts 
near the top of the bank, 
a thin line of dried bracken, 
fanwort and devil’s thorn
rattling. At the door, 
on the welcome mat,
a Blue Point Siamese curls up 
in shifting light. 
She’ll be gone                               
before the chill drops.