My tutu : 295 words

My tutu

She’s building,
fountains
Shooting
higher
than the tallest
ʻōhiʻa tree
in the forest.
Her fountains spit
rocks and glass
Her hemo-skin anger
is unbridled.
Her wiry tresses
snap
into
myriad fragments
of needles and glass
floating
floating
carelessly
on a current
of
hemo-skin
heat
and wind
downwards,
downwards,
towards rainy Hilo.
Her hair settles
on my face
making itchy eyes.
Her peppery hair
mingles
with the hair
in my nose
making me sneeze.
Just a reminder
of how far she travels
with
the wind
her reluctant
companion.

Back in
Hale ma’uma’u
She builds
her rock wall.
She snaps
she crackles
she pops
she whistles
she explodes.
She belts out
a gassy,
wicked
laugh.

Back in
Halema’uma’u,
She’s building
a broad lake.
of liquid fire.
Hemo skin.

This molten moana
drowns
and petrifies
every living creature
every leafy formation
that dares to tread
on her new ʻāina.
She’s building
one huge
cauldron
in her kitchen.
Hemo skin.
Her cooking
get funny kine smell
of matches
and steam
no smell like
her ‘ono-licious
chicken lu’au
No touch!
Da cauldron
bumbye
going
hemo skin.

Awestruck malihini
snake down trails
making crunchy sounds
treading carelessly
on her rock collection.
They come to shoot
armed
with phone in hand
Dey wait
for nightfall.
To selfie.

Back in the hotel
dey carry bits
of her rock collection
in da soles
of their shoes
it settles on
da hotel carpet
in da shower
in da wet hair
in da white towels
in da white sheets.

 

Gazing
at their screens
at their selfies
dey wonder.
Who’s the old lady
with the long tresses
of wiry hair
standing behind me?
Smiling
about to place
her hemo-skin
hot hand
on my shoulder.
Was she going push
da malihini into her
kitchen?