Ordnance
My grandmother rescued me
from death by water. I floated
face down at Kawaha Point,
my head towards Tarawera,
the volcano white with snow.
The Greeks knew the power of water.
On Hippocrates' island of healing
magic I found a brass shell
glinting in the shallows, flung
it hurriedly back into the waves.
I described it as mere unexploded
ordnance, a relic of old wars,
like broken columns in the Castle
of the Knights, the purple
bougainvillea by the harbour.
Yet I, already twice-born at home,
knew the force of ungovernable
transformation, stood bright
moments in the whirlwind.
Third Place
John Horrocks
Lower Hutt
