AUNTIES

APRIL 2024 by WREN MABIN & THE AUNTIES

Aunties (Maia, Wren, and Mana) with Archer. 8 April 2024.

We

Miss-fits

We

between the cracks of   ka puta ko 

We

the jagged twigs on family trees

utterly b u r n a b l e

utterly  on  fire.

We who bleed all through the ‘child-bearing years.’

We who miscarry

silently, in the second month.

We who never bleed.

I want to say: “check your pro-natalism” 

without sounding like a misanthrope, a misogynist - make no mistake: 

he taonga, he toa ngā māmā

and

can we make a little more space

for the aunties. 

Who may be māmās too (now, or one day)

who may be any gender

who may or may not get paid for babysitting

who may or may not get to be special to a child

or a few. 

can we take one b r e a t h

for those of us who birth a thousand things

in the light

and in the dark

who suckle the more-than-human

beget their bodies through our bodies

who wrap our arms around entire families

entire movements

and keep vigil through the nights? 

For we who may yet grieve

an emptiness - 

might you be generous, and gentle with us?

might you consider us kind-of bereaved?

Might you not assume where we might be choosing to fit within the Mystery?

might you not assume that we have (had) a choice

at all.

To my aunties: I see you.

To the crones and queers, the quiet ones, the whores and sorcerers: 

I see you and I am of you.

To the crazy cat lady:  meow. I love you.

My great-grandmother Florence (middle) and her sisters Lucy (left) and Olive (right). Olive had no children. Photo from about 1930.