Güd wrtr

She’s the Hawaiian rainbow goddess,
and when she makes an appearance,
we take notice, tipped off by

soft drops of rain freckling our faces.
Simultaneously, we turn away from
the sun to watch this messenger

of the gods unfurl her full-spectrum
message—blessings of hope and rebirth
arching across the sky.

A rainbow, it seems, is a two-way street—
for mortals, a path to the heavens,
and, for the gods, a river of light

on which they may beam down
to Earth. So we stand grinning,
entranced by this anuenue highway,

a momentary glimpse of joy
in the form of simple sunlight
striking water droplets.

That she, a vanishing vision,
comes and goes so quickly makes
us treasure her all the more.

(for Donna Just in Lawai, Kauai)

Your last day here, mid-afternoon,
we go down to the flat lava rocks
at low tide, under a hiding and
seeking sun. In nearshore waves

we look for periscoping heads
rising to take a breath, inflate
the huge lungs before diving
again to nibble at limu

adorning the rocks like
sea lichen. We call out turtle
heads and flippers and tails,
and I see us as little girls,

blondes getting lighter
each day under the sun,
lake girls transported to
ocean, marveling at these

four long-lived creatures—
two smaller and two larger—
a honu quartet similar
to our own ohana.

One day we will just be two,
bringing us to stand here
on the edge of the earth,
looking to the sanctuary

of waves to find them—
the ancestors rising, breathing,
diving as they have, as they will,
forever.

(McBryde National Botanical Tropical Garden, Kauai)

I ulu no ka lala I ke kumu.
(Without our ancestors, we would not be here.)

And so here we are
in the great garden where everything
is encouraged to grow.

We, too, have grown where we were planted,
venturing into the greater world to take in
other species, trees with fruit that is new to us
but is ancient to this land.

None of us would be here if the ancestors
had not thought to plant us in fertile soil,
tend us as baby shoots, nurture us into
what we are today.

Once again, we thank the trunks from
which we came—mahalo nui loa—
with everything we are

and look to the new shoots
coming up after us,
on which we continue
to shower our everlasting love.

(on the path to Makua Beach, Kauai)

Of course, others might find them.
I cannot be the only one captivated

by the appearance of heart-shaped
coral embedded in soft sand.

I love happening upon them, and
yes, I pocket some. But what I

have not seen are the hearts left
by others tucked into stone niches

on the path to the beach. It occurs
to me that these are not the hearts

of the ones who find them and
wedge them here—starkest white

against earthy black lava blocks
stacked just so—but keiki tucked

into the tender care of makua,
the parents, in this birthplace

of humanity. And when strangers
walk by all that love beaming

at them, they cannot help but
turn their own soft sides toward

the sea, which receives and
shelters us all, from the newest

to the oldest, all the days of
these never-long-enough lives.

•••

(with thanks to Toni and the late C.B. Martin—
as well as Samson—for their generous hearts
in sharing their favorite beach with us)

(for Donna and Eric and Dick)

Three floors up, from the open
window of our oceanside condo,
we four watched a wedding,

our bird’s eye view rendering
us invisible to those gathering,
sitting, waiting for the ceremony

to begin. We found ourselves
captivated by the best show
on island, not least by

the shirtless man sporting
a pareo and wielding a cleaver
to whack off ends of niu,

hefty coconuts into which he’d
carve a just-big-enough puka for
a straw, handing it to a goggle-eyed

guest. We watched the kahu
blow the ku before the parade
of groomsmen and bridesmaids—

a dozen of each?—streamed in
one after the other like nearshore
waves, loud enough to smother

most of the kahu’s words uniting
bride and groom who then walked
down the grassy aisle into their

married life. We could not take
our eyes off her gauzy train
billowing in the seaside breeze,

and later the photographer
urging the newlyweds out onto
smooth lava where—we could

see this coming—the incoming
tide baptized their nuptials,
blessing her ivory gown

and his sleek black suit. What
held us at the window, sent us to
the lanai to watch the goings-on,

we whose own weddings lay
decades behind us? What urged
us to lean over the railing

above them and holler,
“Congratulations!” which made
them look up and wave?

Too simple to call it nostalgia or
envy those who’ve only just begun,
the long-ago song rattling through

our collective memory. Perhaps
it was because we became inadvertent
witnesses to a sweet celebration—

along with the offering of nui,
the humble coconut that Hawaiians
call the beloved tree of life—

to the sustaining power of love.

•••

Pareo: a sarong made of a single straight piece
of printed cotton cloth, worn by Polynesians.

Niu: coconut

Kahu: a pastor or minister with a spiritual commitment
to nurturing and safeguarding what is under their care.

Ku: conch shell blown at traditional Hawaiian ceremonies

Puka: hole

(Hanapepe swinging bridge, Kauai)

It vanished, this 1911 bridge,
hurricane’d right off
its supports in 1992,

rebuilt, then smashed by
a tree propelled by the storm-
swollen river in 2019.

But if you stand on it
today, the only vanishing
thing about it is the point

where all the bridge’s
parallel lines seem to
converge at a single point,

as in paintings that seem
as if you could stride into
them, as if on the other

side of the bridge wait
the unvanished, still
embodied, smiling

as you walk across,
ready to fall into their
welcoming embrace.

(Lawai, Kauai)

I come to wade in the protected pool
where waves crash on rocks just outside it,
marveling at all the forms of life—

from the ginormous monk seal parked
like an oceanic zeppelin on the bigger beach
down the road to hundreds of tiny fish
in this ocean nursery.

I stand up to my knees in leftovers of waves
that have come from afar to dash themselves
on the rocks circling this pool like a lei
before careening gently into shore.

I gawk as if I have never seen it—this cove,
these palm trees, the wall of naupaka
with its tiny white flowers behind
the haphazard collection of chunked
lava that protects this keiki pool.

I have sunk my baby toes into sand
here many times. Yet each visit reveals
a new batch of keiki fish, slender and silver,
along with miniature convict tangs wearing
their tiny vertical stripes, so small they
look like wee butterflies nipping at
submerged rocks.

But the gods of abundance are not done
with me yet. As I straighten and lenthen
my gaze, angled on a steep turquoise wave,
a large honu turtle-surfs his way through
his wild world.

And overhead, a large monarch wings by,
reminding me that she, along with all
the other ‘aumakua, are always present,
whether or not my heart’s door
is flung open, if only I am clever
enough to see them.

•••

keiki: child, offspring

‘aumakua: Hawaiian spirit guardians

5ish a.m. We’re both up,
listening to the surf below us,
while just outside the early birds
begin yakking above the whoosh
of waves.

This is not our time of day.
I have no idea why we’re awake.
He says he’s waiting for sunrise,
the day’s first pinkening of cloud
out there beyond the horizon,
see if there’s a photo to be made.

I awoke in the dark with words
coursing through my dreams,
ones like twittering birds that
disturbed my sleep, though
I could not discern the random
syllables.

Still, something pulled me,
as it the divine often does,
to open the magic lid, call up
the blankness with its blinking
cursor, put fingers to keys.
No thought. Just type.

Oh, look. I see the barest bit
of color in the dove gray sky,
a flotilla of clouds sailing north,
a majestic tall ship of cumulus
leading the way

into this grace-full day
that has once again
been given to us.

And, of all the things that make
this day special, people in Hawaii
wrap themselves and each other,
along with statues of important ones,
in all manner of floral neckwear.

We buy lei for loved ones arriving
this day—simple ti leaf lei for
good luck and protection.

Aloha nui loa, we say. E komo mai.
Warm greetings. Welcome.

We drape lei around necks
with a kiss on the cheek.
Because wearing a lei, it is said,
is like having someone’s arms
wrapped around you.

And who among us could
not use a hug?

(for Briana Martinez and Dick Schmidt,
siblings of the heart)

Never forget that you’ve been given
a second chance—

more than once, it turns out—
a series of fleeting mercies

that whiz by so fast you
rarely notice them.

But this evening, after dinner
with a friend from far away,

you catch the reflection of
the last of the day’s rays,

the sky with its never-before glow,
and you two, forever grateful,

stand and marvel, as only
the truly resurrected can.

•••

(With thanks to Pamela Foster and the AED Institute
for their good work in installing defibrillators throughout
Hawaii like the ones that restarted the hearts of
Briana Martinez and Dick Schmidt.)