Dissociation

Words by Aroha Witinitara (they/them,

Ngāti Kahungunu ki Wairarapa)

I have stumbled                            into a retro arcade, 

lit by LED light strips and the illumination of screens,    

But there is something wrong with the machines. 

All the joysticks have been sawn off   at the neck, 

and there’s just holes where the buttons should be. 

All I can do is wander the isles                                            aimlessly. 

I am a toddler                       in an adult-sized skin suit. 

My hands are like   arcade machine claws, 

no matter how meticulously  I place them 

they never manage to keep hold of anything. 

I feed all my coins                          into the machine 

                                 and get nothing in return.  

I am eternally suspended in the moment 

just after the flash                         goes off 

                             in the photo booth. 

    Overwhelmed by brightness. 

                                           The world trying it’s best  

                                                                            to fade back in from the edges.