On the day of the 40th Anniversary of the First Moonwalk
She wants to join me on the sad canoe, paddles making fire in our shoulders. Or maybe, like Waitaha, bugger the canoe — we'll travel on the bargeboards of our meeting house. When we reach an island we can't be bothered paddling round we'll split it with the fire sirens inside us, Kia matata! The island will break its heart, the sea will rise up in front of us. You shall be known as Kore-rawa, says the sea. Nothing-nothing, Never-never.
The next day Nothing-nothing wakes me with a cup of tea. Happy anniversary! she says.