Moku Ola (200 words)

Moku Ola

for my husband, who is always my Hilo

This is the tenth year of separation
the waters in my body, deep waters of channels
continue to guide me towards you,
but I always choose to leave again,
the effulgent pull of the city
wakes me up in the middle of the night,
the shadows in the trees remind me,
this is not the time for rest.

When we are together on this island that is you,
the curve of the bay as familiar to me
as the curve of the papio at the end of your hook;
the rhythms of your breathing
like the viridescent rattle of the kukui leaves
dancing in the rise of the la’au kū lua moon
l am lulled into a lethargic haze, like vog
this softness,
like drifting,
and in my dreams, I am the orographic clouds that cling to you
held by the pull of mauna and wai
ʻāina and the familiar of your hand reaching out to me
in your sleep.

But morning comes, and the coqui burrow
into fetid, acidic soil,
the contrails of jet exhaust mark my destination,
freeways and brake lights, cacophonous silence,
countdowns on calendars to you.