As I Was Passing Kaheka Street
walking on the sidewalk
when death swished by him
and stopped short of his grave.
The dude must have felt the air rush by
as the hanging palm frond dropped
from the sky that close to his head,
a hefty stalk made deadlier by
the towering height from which it shed
halting his stride and blocking his path.
Just one step forward a half-second sooner
and his vacation in Hawaii might have ended.
His face strained for composure but I
could see the veiled terror move
across his orbs, glazing them over,
his skin blanching whiter,
still he kept it together his look
now pensive, replaying the grisly scene
with his nerves shredded. I saw
that his near miss was mine also,
and I wondered which saint he prayed to.
G. M. LaRiviere has lived in NYC, L.A., Monterey, and Japan as well as in Hawaii, her home. Her poems, which have won awards in poetry competitions, are mainly Hawaii poems. Late in life, after her father's death, LaRiviere learned of their descent from a samurai family. Coincidentally, research on a YA samurai novel which she had put on hold has been spurred on by this knowledge. Her completed ethnic novel, FROM NEW YORK TO WEST TOLUCA LAKE VIA HAWAII, took ten years to write. Look for an excerpt to be published in the forthcoming 2014 NWA Honolulu Chapter's anthology.
Dusk at Kauaʻi Surf
by Frances Kakugawa
A sadness falls over me
As man’s torches
Replace the sun
Beyond the red mountains.
A giant Japanese fan
Ripples out in circlets
Around a mallard
As she dips her head
Into her wings
To nibble a bug
On the quiet pond.
Quietly the fan disintegrates
To the motor boat ripples
Trailing each mallard
Across the lake to shore.
[gn_divider]Overnight Guest
by Frances Kakugawa
i am an overnight guest
in their brand new home,
both girls, instead of pulling straws
sleep with me
on a king-sized bed
with me sandwiched in the middle.
giggles, giggles, betwixt the sheets,
”go to sleep!” “stop poking me!”
bring more giggles
but even giggles soon get sleepy.
brandi is sound asleep on my right,
nicole on my left slide to the edge,
proclaiming, “I love to sleep near the edge.”
i curve one arm around nicole,
holding her in before
she falls like icarus
into total darknness.
i lay awake, thinking of life,
how some of us live near the edge
taking risks, pursuing dreams, living
outside of little white boxes,
often teetering on one foot.
only in childhood do we know,
someone’s arm is always there,
holding us in from over the edge.
and this is how it ought to be
when we are young and trusting
in our parents’ home.
A local author and poet, Frances H. Kakugawa’s works include Kapoho, Mosaic Moon, and Wordsworth Dances the Waltz. She received a Ka Palapala Poʻokela Award for her keiki book Wordsworth the Poet.
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