Cocos

Reneé Pettitt-Schipp

Weaving Ketupat on Pulu Cheplok

the neneks are starting to weave
laughing under thin palms
quick fingers, memory of muscle
mast tap-tapping in breeze

laughing in shade of thin palms
Nek splits fronds with sure fingers
mast tap-tapping in breeze
parcels piling by feet

sure hands, movement of muscle
boat rocking slow in shallows
Nek invites me to weave
from banana-lounge under lean tree

boat sways, slaps sides on cool water
the neneks are patient with me
pale palm over and under
these fingers cannot remember
Trade Winds coming over sea.

— —

Margin
Cocos (Keeling) Islands

What does it mean to live,

subsist, just a moment

above the ocean

where slow coral

grows its mighty mountain

and life explodes as

its o-mouth meets air

All night I hear

the sea’s secret undoing

and all day witness

uncountable beings

rebuild

Some early evenings

when the sun is stirred

into the trees

and the water returns

to reclaim its margins

we are still

Only then

will clear crabs peer

with above-water eyes

— perfectly between —

like sharks setting sail-fins

to the sky

Here

the water’s surface

looks like something

you can trust

the statement of

its reflected surface

is sure

promises we belong

above.