East Coast Road Trip, March 2013 (Part 1)

I began this Blog last year inspired by a conference held in Boston and my first visit to the city.  I was swept up.  This poem isn’t about Boston, but it is about place, absence and longing, and in that spirit I dedicate it to the people and the city of Boston this week.

(Friday)


'we are now starting our descent, cabin crew ...... '

from my window seat New Zealand appears

I see land-

fall

the long black strip of beach, green hills rolling, 

but my heart doesn't lift,  it used to

perhaps I'm done with you? 

from the airport we drive down state highway 1, left on to 2

Karangahake gorge appears, years since I've been here

we pass through

Waihi

with its palm tree welcome and scudded clouds

I remember you now and my heart lifts,

we were here, and happy

Mark

once, many times


(Saturday)


Opotiki

an old Toyota ute parked at the supermarket, thick with mud, someone's written:

'wish my missus was this dirty'

we stop at the lady's restroom

everything closed but 3 pharmacists and a cafe tucked away.

I wander into a museum,

of artefacts lovingly displayed

we hug the coast on 35 and pull up at Raukokore

an historic church built on a piece of land juts out into the harbour

bride-in-white,

a gaggle of peach bridesmaids wait outside


at Waihau Bay we stop and eat toasted sandwiches, drink beer

while locals play pool, watch us,

3.00PM the tide turns and the boats return

the curve here-

of the bay

turn left, leave 35 late in the afternoon,

find Lottin Point Motel at the end of a long gravel road,

greeted with a key and a jug of milk

on the balcony we sit and watch people climb up,

and down,

the rocks below

6.36PM-

cider

(Sunday)

dash-don't-dash-

the rain Alison predicted yesterday is here, today

I sit astride the balcony, facing the sea

and recall you, deep blue

the road to Waihi

the way, you go.

the rain returns, harder than before

35 where we left it,

pine trees and tended farms hug the coast,

i imagine living here in winter, isolated, cold

we turn inland, as the rain sets in

find Hick's Bay, a caravan park old, dilapidated,

coffee and manuka honey slice-

swoon

Te Puia Springs,

an old hotel and a shack out the back

Annabel laughs as I wearily navigate an obese 'bulldog',

too fat to chase anything

an old bloke appears and opens the shed for us,

thick sulphur fumes

he lets the hot spring water flow into the pool,

we stand there until the heat and smell drive us out,

and that smell lasts on our skins for days.