Live Encounters Aotearoa New Zealand Poets & Writers March 2026
A song for Tinā, poems by Gail Ingram.
A song for Tinā
we knew it was coming, her daughter
under the rubble, under the chest, stopping the [song]
trauma both slows and speeds the heart,
a woman flees her job, can’t open her mouth in [song]
the girl at the bus stop is fair, that Canterbury fair;
no matter blood looks darker on skin, gets under the [song]
male teacher pushes student, a caricature of a bully –
it undermines the effect; racism pricks the [song]
hissing woven into the fabric – it is Christchurch,
synonym for ‘racism’ – same old [song]
Tinā is bigger than the myth, bigger than a shooter,
the earthquake dislodged us; Mother solid as blood of a
city, brown as the earth moves; it is well with my soul,
this melody for multitudes, a song for a new faia’oga*
*faia’oga (Samoan) – teacher
On the first day of term
stroking the spine / of the land /
with my walking shoes / on a hollow day / trying to focus
on the furred earth / its lichen / its branches /
on my route / my mind busy as sticks / clickety-clack distracted
by nothing / as good as wood / at the core but
‘furries’ / manufactured American furies / in my feed
this morning / politicians as usual / distract
the masses / an evil waste / of good
public time / in halls / once hallowed … / come on /
switch off / switch on / note
the fresh faces / looking up / looking outwards /
to think / to write / to show me pictures / engaged
in characters called Hope and
Rhythm / their pointed-ears reality / a wish /
really / for change / they ‘ve seen
fantasy / crime / science fiction /
horror the same as me /
Comfort shopping
I found these sheets in green leaf
oh crap they’re cheap! our old ones
are holey but I’ve been putting off
the shop for the cost I carry them
to the counter with glee everyone
gets a bargain when it’s New Zealand-owned—
goodie they have their own bag
of the same soft fabric and cardboard
bulk in the unwrapping I see
they’re thinner than I thought on his bed but g
they look so good I’m thinking jungle
or jasmine vine no wrinkles
no ironing but
my stomach drops already
I feel the petroleum problem under our limbs
when we sleep it’s warm alright
(and cheap) the small particles
of plastic trickling through the wash
plinkety plink into the river
my family’s been trying to restore
with days of planting under the pines
sucking the goodness from earth g
the plastic accumulating in our bird
brains a bottle-cap size according to all sources
floating in the grey matter so what leaves
of all the books at the library
might tell me what to do now – throw up
this non-vegetable mass,
snuggle deeper?
© Gail Ingram
Gail Ingram (tangata Tiriti, she, her) writes from the Port Hills of Ōtautahi Christchurch Aotearoa New Zealand and is author of three collections of poetry. Her latest, anthology (n.) a collection of flowers (Pūkeko Publications 2024) weaves poetry and botanical and mountain art. Her second collection Some Bird (Sudden Valley Press 2023) was selected for best books 2024 by The New Zealand Listener. Contents Under Pressure (Pūkeko Publications 2019) is set in the aftermath of the Christchurch earthquakes. Her work has been widely published in local and international journals and anthologies, such as Poetry New Zealand, Landfall, Atlanta Review, The Spinoff, Cordite Poetry Review and Barren Magazine. Awards include winning the Caselberg (2019) and New Zealand Poetry Society (2016) international poetry prizes and being placed or shortlisted for many others including the 2025 Fish Poetry Prize. She has edited for NZ Poetry Society’s flagship magazine a fine line, Flash Frontier: An Adventure in Short Fiction and takahē. She teaches at Write On School for Young Writers, holds a Master of Creative Writing (Distinction) and, in 2025, received a residency at Robert Lord House in Dunedin.
https://www.theseventhletter.nz/