Lament for Cuba Street

I remember when I was a student
spewing for the first time
in the waters of the bucket fountain.
I will never forget the chunks of corn
that rose to the surface.

I pass one thought and the next until neon
interrupts my nostalgia. A talker tries
to talk to me about art but I see someone
prying a brick from the pavement
with their fingers and I am lost for words
at the clay beneath the city.

There are baked beans dripping from the park benches
but I am not hungry. It must be evening but the sun
has long since set on Wellington.

The buckets in the fountain fall
and the water spills where it may.
All the stains of Cuba street
gently wash away.

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This poem is in my as yet unpublished poetry book, Wild Altar. I am currently searching for a publisher for it, do you have any suggestions where my work could find a home?

Wild Altar is a book of New Zealand poetry. It contains poems about art, love, meditation and magic. There are poems about sleeping in carparks, getting lost in forests and sailing between islands. There are hard moments when I pry under the rug, where we New Zealander’s love to sweep our darkness. All encircles the landscape of Aotearoa. All illumes what it is like to live here.