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Doug Poole

Dedicated to Katherine Uleberg

When they burned your body

the empty fale became

webs breathing our memories.

Shutters suspended on broomsticks

let open the memory of Kake’s

biscuit tin overrun with black ants.

Greeting every morning

talofa lava and a kiss.

Rubbing coconut oil on the dry

mottled skin of Kake’s

bad leg, I am company

in the pouliuli of blindness.

Kake sings and plays harmonica

as I shake ants from the tin.

© Samoa Observer 2016

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