Born and raised in Honolulu, Hawai’i, Alohi Ae’a received a BA in English from Westmont College. She is a teacher at Kamehameha Schools, where her classes focus on Hawaiian, Pacific and world literature. Her poetry has been published in Ruminate and ‘Ōiwi: A Native Hawaiian Journal.
I dream that you stand beneath the night
sky, watching the stars. You track
their movements, as the dome of the earth swings
overhead. The star you seek rises
and there, as it breaks the horizon, you turn. Face
Tahiti. The wind is silent at this moment. I turn
in bed; the air is cool.
Such small things keep us together. I work
the sennit of our love, roll it between
my fingers. Next week, I will help you lash
the masts. In the open ocean, the ropes we pull
will keep this canoe together. It will rise
and fall with wind and wave and storm. You go
with it. I remain here.
You sit at Moa’iki under the full bright
of a distant moon. At Waikīkī, moonlight
makes little difference – yet here I am at Queen’s,
watching the waves swell dark
against a grey horizon. I catch my breath – see
the shower of light falling, falling. I find the handful
of constellations that I know. Grip them in my mind.
Nine a.m. Sunday morning. Dolphins spin
far offshore. I see their bellies flash silver. You
want to reach out and touch them, stroke the sleek pulse
of their sides. What does all that smoothness
remind you of? What are you thinking as the wind
catches in the sails? How is it that I can hear your voice,
echoing across the distant channels?
They travel in a knot, these
boys of mine, as if keeping close to other
sweaty, unsure bodies will
keep away the uncertainty this pubescent
life flings them into every day.
They are so entangled in the world
they’ve created, iPods shoved
into dark pockets, grimy cellphones
buzzing in their hands
that in the rare
moments they ascend
from self-absorption
to look around,
the smiles they send me
are unexpected – like crinkled money
in a jacket pocket, or mangoes ripening
in the October sun.
for Randy
The truth about endings is that
a thing is never really ended
Someone always stays behind
to turn out lights, wipe
off the counter, and put a newly
quiet house to sleep.
But you, my friend, winding
your way down a dark night’s
dark road – things were not
supposed to end this way.
And what this ending leaves
is us, while you
have gone on to a place
we imagine is full of light
and the green of mountains
that you loved.
But we are left here,
where night comes too quickly
and its darkness lasts too long
and we cannot see the mountains
or the curve of the road ahead.