O’ahu
On the first day, dad said,
“Let’s get the heavy stuff pūpū a 'o 'Ewa
out of the way,” so we went i ka nuku
e lawe mai
to the Punchbowl to visit
Benedicto, the father he lost
when he was three months old. ahe 'āina
mai no
The last time dad was
at the Honolulu Memorial,
there was no paved road,
no office, no map with directions. alahula Pu'uloa
he ala hele
His mother would bring
Chesterfields and li hing mui. nō Ka'ahupāhau
Tell him to wait
under the banyan tree. There
were things she had to say
now that his dad was asleep. pūpū a 'o 'Ewa i ka nuku e
lawe mai
It was just as quiet.
Dad would pretend the rustling. ahe 'āina mai
branches were Connie Francis singing no alahula Pu'uloa
“Pearly Shells.” She had
his mother’s voice. He says he ala hele nō
by now he’s forgotten the words, Ka'ahupāhau
but we know better. He is like his father
who was found in Vietnam
with three pukas in his pocket. pūpū a 'o
'Ewa i ka nuku e lawe
One for each son. To boys
crossing the Pacific, the Island
is always home. mai ahe 'āina mai no alahula
U298 is Benedicto’s gravestone. Pu'uloa he ala hele
The dusk smells of
plumerias and salted plum.
no Ka'ahupā
My dad is sitting cross-legged when
he remembers the lyrics:
i apau huna one i ka kahakai / ua honi nau
ho'i koe lawa na / pakahi hoku 'i ka lani
He opens his eyes to hear
the banyans singing,
leans over and whispers,
Daddy Benny, it’s baby Darin.
Mom has called us home.
Poetry
15 July, 2023
Kiana Shaley
Kiana Shaley lives and writes in Long Beach. Previous work of hers has appeared in Annex Magazine, The Racket, and Sims Library of Poetry’s Poem-a-Week.