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.
Ha.
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?
Bleached
like your gravestone on Mauke.
Seventy years now, I still wonder.
