Hawai‘i Literature & Art
— Since 1978 —
Found Ma wen looz my bruddah at Sears Nah—mo like she wen foget wea he stay, Afta all, she get tree udda kidz fo corral eenside da cah. I rememba tellin my Ma he no stay, She sed Shit an we turn da cah aroun fo get em. Was eazee fo fine heem…
Deep Water Old rhythms persist— I wash, and she dries dishes After meals turned silent By stillborn thoughts. I am a visitor in mother’s kitchen Where clutter and restraint sit side by side, Pots stored on stove burners, Pans stacked neatly in the oven While cups and bowls scatter Across green linoleum counters. …
You Asked I never wore Obsession, that spicy fragrance sold at Macy’s. But it’s what happens when something interests me, like ostrich ranching for its feather plumes, humungous eggs, and leather. Then, there’s Kdramas that drug me with the push-pull romance, mystery, horror,and comedy in every season. Or, that nudibranch I found in the froth…
Letting Go Letting go is hard for me, I hang on to men way past the expiration date In hopes things will change, and we can work it out. I have learned to let go of men like that But hang on to books, They are the milestones of my life— I keep books…
When I Am Gone There’s something about stones that lure us to remember loved ones who have passed on. At my father’s grave, we stand hip-cocked or sit, chatting about Sissie’s new boyfriend, and life on this side of heaven. I wistfully look at my Dad’s gravestone. My boys say, “No need for you, Ma! …
We Are Made Of Star Stuff Carl Sagan got it right, It’s just that it gets buried From everyday shit That pile on and on You know what I mean, The baby born before high school graduation, The welfare and food stamps used with head held high, The HPD husband who fooled around And even…
How To Get To My House Go past the gate whitewashed from hawked gobs See the words scribbled in fear to offend, JAP GOOK CHINK Cross to the left, Straight to my heart, Sweet rainwater…
Memories of the Moon and Bon Dance Ed Bon Dance Ed and I make the circuit every season, He rides shotgun for my navigation to temples tucked away In valleys, under and along freeways, and forgotten places, Sometimes we get lost going home And laugh about becoming urban legends, never to be seen again. …
Fragile tree limbs cup The weight of the yellow moon Cane erupts through the soil
Bird Watcher My grandfather drove his 59 Chevy Impala and us every Sunday to the church in Nuuanu. It was a long and boring ride on the road from Wahiawa that took us alongside cane fields. If I was lucky, I’d see long-legged white birds, high stepping and pecking here and there looking for…