One.
When I think of ea
I think of music
The breath breaking off the roof of my fathers mouth
How its the softest broken i known
I think of the makani
The way it must carry its own memory
I think of the way both
My father
The wind of his voice
How my first practice in visioning came through singing
In the malu of my father’s mountain range shoulders
Under the breath of his waiʻōmaʻo winds
How I would do anything to protect him
Two.
When I think of sacrifice
I think about led cut against its will
I think of the bodies, something like a pōhaku
Forced into small shapes to paint death on my ʻāina
On my people
I think of the way Pōhakuloa sings her own song
In the dead of night
Shakes us awake in her trembling
Three.
When I think of ʻeha
I see his face again
In his dark blues
I think of the ocena that must still connect us
But there are too many weapons between us to recognize our pilina
When i think of ʻeha
I think of
Clenched jaws and tears streaming like rivers
Across skin the same tint as my own
I think of my voice
Reaching out to him
“Brother, stand with us”
I think,
In another time
We stood on the same side
I think,
Mauna a Wākea also casts her malu of protection on him
I think,
That makes us family
I believe,
next time we will be facing the same direction
Four.
When I think of trust
I remember my mothers fingertips
Dancing across my back
The way the shore break dances upon the sand
I think of all the ways
Love is a verb, a choice, a memory we hold on to
When I think of trust
I think of my fists
And everything iʻve lost to them
All the sand, salt and promises that crept out from between long fingertips
How I am not so much like my mother
The grace of her open hands
That can hold so much without suffocating
All the breath around her
How she never fails to make the wind dance
Five.
When I think of ea
I wonder
What will I offer back to my lāhui
With fists full of rocks
All their breath, all squeezed out
With name im still learning to recall
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