A poem for the times: and one night, all that was burning
And you may ask yourself: where are the honey bees? and the kopiko with their tired little faces? and why so many hurricanes on steroids and melting icebergs pulling apart our worlds, and pushing them together—and— tear gas, fire hoses, blasting at liberty and justice and peaceful protesters Well. I'll tell you everything. But first— I lived in the green rolling hills above Honolulu and high schools and churches and parks From there you could see Diamond Head And for miles on trade-wind days a sea of smooth sapphire Our house was named Nu'umealani the heavenly terrace, because it floated over paradise with plumeria-scented air a charming place with pink-cheeked children rolling like chubby ohi'a'ai down manicured slopes Do you recall at night, how the lights silhouetted green geckoes munching pale-winged termites our lanai under which the summer glow spilled down the hill like a suicidal angel Later our breath became steam spiriting the sky sa