The river of our tongues has dried to cracked earth.
Too long since wear, crawfish pronunciations,
and bullfrog syllables are shells and lumps of sand now.
Ē kapuna, make wai ‘ia au.
I am thirsty for the metaphors of our grandmothers,
their every breath a prayer for peace and unchecked giving,
and receiving was as easy as a nap with a pole in my hand on a warm day.
I crave the torrents from times when women were gardens
and there was only one table to put a vase on.
Yet in place of flowers, homework, and electronic debris,
bountiful food prepared with god in mind was served
to strangers passing through the channel.
© Sarah Bordeau-Rigterink, 2012
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| Hawaiians eating poi, c. 1896 Photo by Strohmeyer & Wyman From Wikimedia Commons/Library of Congress |
1 comment:
This poem is so alive with unusual images that move quickly, take me into the longings of the poet and into my own longings for the times when we were more human, closer to the earth and to each other.
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