Mokoia Valley

The swing was a rope tied to a branch

above a hidden part of the river.

I balanced on the bank between the tree roots

gripping it with my girl-hands, too high up

for the others to see my knuckles whitening

around the coiled fibres. There was the smell

of dirt, and the water, covering

what was under its surface. That was the summer

of training bras and deodorant, the spill of time

spent arranging my appearance.

Learning a new kind of heat. I’m trying to remember

the point at which my body

jumped - perched there on the bank

there was looking and being looked at,

the difference already a secret to keep. Hurry up,

they called, eager for their turn. Even then

I knew the maxim of courage, and after my leg

grazed the submerged log, how to stop the blood.

Bronte Heron is a poet of pākehā (Scottish and Irish) descent who grew up in Taranaki. She is currently based in New York City, where she is studying towards an MFA in poetry at The New School thanks to the support of Fulbright NZ. More of her work can be found in Aotearoa literary magazines and journals such as The Spinoff, Landfall, Mayhem, takahē, Turbine | Kapohau, and Lightbox.