this christmas has a different smell.
none of the pine quickened
of a biting winter night
or the pork-and-mustard-leaf happiness
the stench of tribal feasting.
this christmas is lush
fed by a swollen river
and shaded by the broad leafed trees
of tane’s mighty garden.
and try as i might
i cannot smell a feast.
note: tane is pronounced to rhyme with the ‘ne’ of the english word ‘net’. tane is the maori god of the forests.