on haibun

lost songs

[haibun by: brett brady and jocelyn brady]

 

 

what do you say to a place that’s disappearing?

all those memories tied to you

the snorkeling splashing splaying out staring across the horizon

suntans and sunburns and salty hair and flip flopped feet

angel fish and trumpetfish and sea stars and urchins

you are mr. higa, rest in peace.

the camping trips with your 7th and 8th grade buddies

walks to the tidepools

a centipede in your water shoes

card games and horse shoes and fresh fish off the grill

you are tradewinds and plumerias and night blooming jasmine

a full moon. a new moon. a partial eclipse. palm trees swaying mynah birds gossiping coqui frogs haunting the night.

you are all the stars an eye could possibly ever see

you were, it seemed, forever. an invincible never never land. the place we could always return to and zone out and tune in and remember what it feels like to be home. ...

today, a lobe of lava a half mile wide is slowly, slowly consuming you.

we watch. we say goodbye. and thank you. and i guess that’s all we can do.

 

    fissure # 8 . . . . .  ....

the first and last magma-threat--

      my leilani home

 

    the cry of an owl--

one more albeezia drowns

       in a lava lake

 

   magma-spew--

a burn't-orange grime

      haunts the moon

 

   molokai channel--

only sulfur dioxide

      and emerging sails

 

   volcanic-ashfall--

tradewinds sweeping across

       the neighbor islands

 

   choking-coquis--

the last ohia swallowed

      in magma-smoke

 

   a-thundering!

halemaumau spewing-out

      molten-rain

 

    magma-dusk. . .

an orange-hue half-lights

      my neighbor's face

 

   lost songs--

the albeezia forest

     under lava

 

   the few embers...

a collapsing-log

     a puff-of-ash