Womb Matrix

By Kathleen McLeod

I don’t know what time it is where you are, I am standing behind the veil but I can hear you so clearly. On Google Earth I look at the mountain ranges there and read your words Diamond Matrix, Womb Matrix. I tell you whare tangata, the womb, the house of humanity. I keep dreaming of my maunga, Taupiri, my tūpuna calling me home. Some nights in lucid dreams I fly over it like the toroa. On the screen my fingers touch photographs you send: ash from incense, blades of rice growing, a putatara like my tūpuna would have played, a bright cloudless sky. So much physical distance between our conversations and between us only a bright, cloudless sky. Between death and life I see how God touches you, a breeze rippling through the rice fields, the sun on your face. Touching you the ways I might never.

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