Māori-Pākehā poem for Waitangi weekend, by Shelley Burne-Field

2026-02-07 - 12:18

skin He’s white, but he knows me We are two hairs on the same head We are a pair of sunken armchairs We are opposite wedges of a colour wheel We both recognise 70s kitchens Lime lines laid over orange oblongs Though he recalls veneered table conversations About the Māoris, and I recall I am one. What is white? He argues he’s ruddy I hold his pink hand As we pad quietly through back alleys Avoiding small-town stonings He smells of salt and iron And I of whenua and wai Two palms aligned his, splintered | mine, inked We trust only each other to reveal prime eeling spots watercress plots doughboy recipes At my beach, we mooch past smooth driveways and stare at flash houses washed up like empty coffins and imagine laying down in one. We hoot like whekau and buy a Lotto then sprint for our fav ice cream truck He orders French vanilla Me: Italian espresso. He pays, damned straight. We explore screen footprints on DNA maps Could we be kissing cousins? Am I heir to Queen Hatshepsut’s bearded legacy? Did he once oil my comb? Would he again? He and I come from almost nothing a foaming head, an empty cupboard a work ethic, some chooks, violence. He knows me. And I, him. Our tamaiti is born, eyes knowing. We caress his tiny alien hands And fall in love again with each other’s skin “skin” was named winner of the 2025 Pikihuia Award for poetry, the second time that Shelley Burne-Field has won the prize, staged by Te Waka Taki Kōrero – Māori Literature Trust. Judge Tayi Tibble wrote, “It’s a sincere and tender poem that uses a kind of Māori sentimentality to describe an interracial relationship...The easy rhythm of the poem means we are able to move naturally through shifting ideas; 70s kitchens, to beach walks, to Queen Hatshepsu, ending on a birth.” Shelley Burne-Field adds, “Bernie and I have been together 31 years this year. He’s a good bloke and our skin colour matters naught.”