" For Safekeeping "
“into thy hands, I commend my spirit”
-- Luke, 23:44
When there is no more and nothing else,
there will be this -- pearl ash ribbons
on a backdrop of Bora Bora blue.
I see you in well-worn trousers the shade
of wet sand, your barefoot depressions
permanent-pressed in charcoal lava.
I hear strains of a ghost train,
smell brine on winds that rip
roofs off meager bamboo huts.
What remains gives rise to remnants
of a union birthed on a motu, witnessed
by goats. The trice before two mouths meet
is a gold band you absently roll between
thumb and forefinger. Only when you know
the burn of parahi oe will you wear it.
Plumes of ash expand, conjoin, disperse.
His life and death nestled in my arms
like sacred eggs of rare white herons.
Weak shells fractured, magma poured
forth independent of a woman’s wants.
Molten rock takes everything in its wake.
You come to honor a covenant
conceived when the expanse of a pool
welcomed the surge of the waterfall.
You plumbed its deepest pitch,
nescient of water’s complications;
learned love is nothing but a teacher.
Jimmy sings La Vie Dansante
at the bar in Bloody Mary’s.
Polynesians are fat, ‘oa‘oa.
They dance for Hina Tefatou,
rejoice for this is all they know.
You press your lips to the urn, sacrifice
us to the sea. It will bob twice,
passively submerge. This tattooed
isle holds no room for anguish,
no lagoon the natives name regret.
© 2004 M
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