by Anne McCrary Sullivan
Hōkūle’a, teach me how to be on the dark sea
without a chart, clouds obscuring stars.
Teach me how to hold back panic, read the waves.
Teach me to trust the ancestors, who knew more
than I yet know how to know. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Normie Salvador
Dropped off by my dad, I walk Kalākaua
Avenue, the liminal line keeping beach
from park. I am conspicuous in Waikīkī
Aquarium yellow shirt, slacks, and Skechers. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Meg Weston
For forty years I brought armloads of anthuriums
to the rim of a crater lake far from home, to curry favor
with a youthful goddess. Those sexy, heart-shaped flowers
with penis-like spadix, lay limp against the gaping black
of Halemaumau, hidden beneath a crust, hints of heat
in steam vents and cracks like etchings on the surface. Continue reading
by Jan Walker
O`ahu, January 2000
A soft silver moment crosses the sand on Kailua Beach as sun burns through clouds at the horizon. Turquoise swaths slash the azure sea, a rose blush dusts the sky. I’m running at water’s edge, aware of sharp sand and chilly water, and a sense of Dad beside me, reassuring me that leaving my mainland home, moving to Kailua to care for Aunt Meg, is the right choice for this tangled time in my life.
My head turns, as though by Dad’s hand, to view the Ko`olau Mountains, veiled in morning haze, where he’s conjured an image of the Rain Shelter in Lyon Arboretum. Dad’s never been to these islands, never seen that shelter, but there it hovers as he says, in my head, Go there, Eve. Go now.
by Jonathon Medeiros
A kumu is a teacher.
She is a tree, the base, the trunk, the root,
The source, the beginning of a braid.
She is a plant in the mud.
Kūmū is a fish. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
Hawaii Pacific Review 