(Thanksgiving Day, Poipu Beach, Kauai)

At the beach park the tourists
gather near sunset, not to gawk at
the ball of fire descending into the sea

but at the bale of turtles who have
trudged their way up the beach, leaving
tracks the size of truck tires on the sand.

They fall heavily on earth, gravity
working against them, as it does us all,
but they also fall quickly into sleep,

which the lucky among us do, too.
And there, working the crowd tonight,
two expert saleswomen disguised

as young girls, one carrying a large
aluminum pan, the kind that might
accommodate a small bird for roasting.

Would you like to buy a lei? the older girl
asks as we step into the park. The littler
one holds up the pan in which long,

dark green twists of ti leaves rest.
I peer into the pan. Ti leaf lei! I say,
and both girls brighten at this

old lady tourist’s recognition
of their craft. How much? I ask.
Ten dollars, says the proud seller,

citing the going grocery store price.
Did you make them? I ask.
Both girls nod and beam like the sun.

lowering itself toward the horizon.
I’m instantly sold. Always buy things
from little girls, I tell Dick later,

harkening back to the Girl Scout
cookie selling days when it
took every ounce of courage for

my sister and me to go door to
door and ask grownups to buy
what we were compelled to sell

to raise money for our troop.
We didn’t even make the cookies,
we girls in light green uniforms,

but these girls, who likely learned
their craft at school or from older
female relatives, wove deep green

ti leaves into long strands, now
carried by hopeful hands, brave
enough to approach strangers.

I’ll take two, I say. Will you pick
them out for me? And the lei makers
do—a shorter one for me, a longer

one for Dick. The taller girl holds
up the lei for me, and without
a thought, I bend my head and

receive the blessing and protection
of this lei made by young hands.
And after the exchange of cash

with our mahalo and aloha, I
I drape the longer lei around
my beloved’s neck and bestow

a kiss upon his cheek, a bit
of aloha amid admiring fans
of locally grown turtles on this

sweet day of thanksgiving.

•••

bale: one of the collective nouns for a group of turtles (also a “dole” or a “nest”)