Rob Hack

Green eyes and fair skin,

like our mother.

Those stupid boys

always hanging round,

you so cheeky,

so cocky.

But I was the eldest.

The black one they said.


I hated you.

You always said things straight

you never said bad things about me.

You were ten in 1933

when you were buried Tairi.

Among the people the men shook their head.

Which one of them lies,

a long rotted stain

on Rarotongan soil?


like your gravestone on Mauke.

Seventy years now, I still wonder.                                    

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