Over the past few weeks, I’ve been sharing some of the wonderful lines and stanzas from the “September” (ie 4th, 2010: the 7.1 earthquake) from Leaving the Red Zone — the poetry anthology (edited by James Norcliffe and Joanna Preston, and published by Clerestory Press) that commemorates the fifth anniversary of the February 22, 2011, earthquake.

Today, I am sharing some lines and stanzas from the “Aftershock” section of Leaving the Red Zone.

—

from “Aftershock”

“3.

All unpicked
The city is a shaken place.

There are cracks and broken lines.
There are scars that define the wounded.
The earth is wounded.

When the earth bends, so do we.
Things cannot be returned.

One writes; it is a matter of trust.
But

in this time?”

~ Tom Weston, “Aftershock”
.

“…another earthquake has splintered a window
shards on the carpet — it’s no surprise — nothing is
as it seems
when something known or unknown
leaves its mark and is gone —
as in a dream, nothing is”

~ Barbara McCartney, “Nothing is’
.

“…the world is shattered and laid to rest
creaks and hisses beneath an impossible weight
…………………………………………………………………………….the heart pumps
.
and flutters like so many trapped birds”………………………………………………………………….

~ Jeffrey Paparoa Holman, “When All You”
.

“People who have stayed talk in colours. Red and greens mostly but occasionally whites
and oranges. They go round in circles like hula hoops round and round reluctant to stop
spinning to be reduced to reality in all its finality.”

~ Emma Currie, “Eastern Christchurch”
.

But the last word, like the first, goes to Tom Weston:

“12.
How should a citizen replace

the stolen city,

having no safe assumptions, nothing
but the same fear,

following hope

out over

the horizon, when the bleak edge
give way

to softer edges,

when trees fall in and try to keep
their feet, pushing back
on despair,

as the last word before rapture
takes me out?

I’m waiting for it now.
And what should I do about hope?”

~Tom Weston, “Aftershock”