Poetry as a cure for homesickness

Sometimes I have a need for New Zealand poetry or writing ... it takes me home.

I spoke with my niece Katie yesterday.
(If time passes while I'm not there, do the children really grow older?)

She wanted to know when I was coming home.

How do you explain to a child that you need to earn a multitude of permissions, fill out papers and pay strangers for signatures to 'enter' the country you've moved to; that the icing on the cake known as immigration is permission to work and earn money ... and that it's only then that you can fly home for a while.

Anyway, the poetry ...

Before and After

Before New Zealand
I did not know:
— that pigs have teeth
— that abalone has another name
— that there is a gumboot capital of the world
— that distance is a cruel deception

After New Zealand
I know:
— how to return a stranger's smile
— how to wrap my tongue around every syllable
— how to not be anonymous
— how to be a foreigner

Thanks Harvey