Lumahai Intervals
 

A curious coldness lingers here
around this crescent-shaped bay 
whose name reminisces the moon’s lunaris 
and the sea’s luminescence 
where seaweed tongues 
tattle the agony of birds 
that come here to die
on disappearing days 
you can chart their descent 
to coastal caves whose interiors
turn from scabbed to pearlescent 
when touched by the tide.

Further down, between dune scrub and palms 
on the beach where Mitzi Gaynor 
once danced with shampoo in her hair 
stands an isolated cottage whose windows
the vandals have left miraculously intact
especially at dusk 
when black and white lashes 
camber the shore beneath bluffs 
that buffer magma and pummice
and the Lumahai River 
where more drownings occur 
than anywhere else
trickles with silvery ruminations
between night and day 
a baby barracuda 
brushes through waterweed 
scalded sea rot
blind tube worms
fishbone and fisheye
                beware beware
the supper hour convergence 
of sharks’ bloodfroth trails 
the lifeguard’s warning:

there will be absolutely 
no swimming after five pm.

At Gaylord’s
 

White linens snap in the hot Wailua breeze
as the clink of wine glasses and cutlery
cue the waiter’s panthery smile.

Here in the islands you can have the world 
on your plate from dim sum 
to such kama‘aina delights 
as lomilomi with minced onions 
and tomatoes with a trickle 
           of roasted Brie, wild boar 
wrapped in lu‘au leaves 
shrimp-stuffed Kauai‘ian papaya 
opakapaka 
‘ama‘ama 
clam-fried ‘opihi 
and for dessert a tart 
gold seedy liliko‘i 
a honeylike poha 
or haupia culled from the meat of the niu.

As he places a guava fizz on your mat 
its toothpick and parchment parasol 
spin the afternoon to a frothy pinnacle
of fairy tale puffs over a storybook manor 
and heritage garden where Mister 
and Missy Scarecrow rag their chins 
above pink and gold hibiscus 
magenta bougainvillaea
tapered frangipani, wild terrestrial orchids  
and a wheelbarrow groaning with Maui onions.

More than four thousand miles from home
the virtues of mango yogurt 
and lemon mousse
take on mythic proportions
as linens wrapped in wind chimes 
fly past you and the scent of Zinfandel 
sweetens the Kilohana breeze.

In the House of the Sun © 2000 SASkarstedt

back to SAS homepage