Published in Overland Issue 219 Winter 2015 Uncategorized Red tiki Ben Brown (New Years Day 2015 on the road between Arrowtown and Hokitika.) Bought a red tiki in a Wanaka souvenir shop for a mere six dollars eighty but red is my son’s colour even if he doesn’t know it yet. And the kitschy little atua will look outrageous hanging around his neck. The greeting card is for my daughter. It has a print on it, playful and surreal; a foundling’s dream beneath a sleeping moon. It cost nearly three times more than the tiki but the image suits her soul. I’ll mail it tomorrow from Hokitika in the envelope provided. A greeting card should be inscribed and arrive in the appropriate manner. My son will have to wait until I visit him. A red tiki must be delivered kanohi ki te kanohi. Ben Brown Ben Brown is an award-winning children’s author, poet, short story and nonfiction writer, though he has never quite been able to work out what the various distinctions are, so he refers to himself primarily as a writer. More by Ben Brown Overland is a not-for-profit magazine with a proud history of supporting writers, and publishing ideas and voices often excluded from other places. If you like this piece, or support Overland’s work in general, please subscribe or donate. Related articles & Essays First published in Overland Issue 228 25 November 202225 November 2022 Poetry Poetry | Summer animal Jini Maxwell This summer I can feel myself turning back into an animal. I wake up early and seek out trees, walking through the expansive quiet of the park until the heat starts feeling sharp on my skin. I leave the blinds closed, so when I return home the building is dark and familiar, and as I shut the door behind me I feel a satisfaction I can only describe as territorial. First published in Overland Issue 228 24 November 202225 November 2022 Politics ‘Sir, please get me the Manager’: Brazil before and after Bolsonaro Guido Melo By then, although young in age, I already knew about those rituals of humiliation and how they were part of my Black family's lives. I also knew that surviving those daily interactions required putting my head down and following the instructions received with no hesitation. I must have had ‘the talk ‘with my parents when I was eight or nine. Life was just like that. Being Black in Brazil means living in a war. No one should ever go to war underprepared.