When the beat drops
by Tamara Woods
His hands banging drums and
Her hips catching beats.
Fingertips raised skyward
Asking for directions to some pagan god.
He wonders if she smells like the rain
Gently kissing her upturned face.
Music links them
Fluid ocean and steadfast beach,
He wanted her to wash up against his shore
Taking pieces of him with her.
Ebbing and flow.
Linked.
She moves like the steel drums
Birthed her years ago
In a swept away village
Where sun-kissed brows were
Stained with wolf berries
For life and fertility.
Molten golden fire strands catching the breeze
Her feet loses their slipper shackles
Leaving life prints in the sand
Leading him to her.
It would be so easy
To commune with spirits
At her side.
Giving praise to Pele
For surely her ancestors were born
From lava and tears
Leaving legacy on her crown.
And then the music stopped.
Tamara Woods was raised (fairly happily) in West Virginia, where she began writing poetry at the age of 12. She has previous experience as a newspaper journalist, an event organizer, volunteer with AmeriCorps and VISTA, in addition to work with people with disabilities. She has used her writing background to capture emotions and moments in time for anthologies such as Empirical Magazine, her blog PenPaperPad and writing articles as a full-time freelance writer. She is a hillbilly hermit in Honolulu living with her Mathemagician.
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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