He Dreams Hawaii

by Glenn Currier

Found in the waning winter of his hopes
and the dead seasons of friendship-yearnings,
heard above the roar of their daily-doings,
he fills the dull din of ordinary days
with sounds of seabirds and surf.

While we feel the rub of work's routines,
a Mouna Loa lei tickles his ears and cheeks,
sliding to rest on his soft shoulders.

We smell traffic and sweat of toil,
garbage, gutter, gas or oil,
he aaah's! the fragrance of white
ginger, orchid and cain,
and mmm's! the soil of Maui
soaked with freshly fallen rain.

We taste coffee or tuna sandwich -
his drinks are Noni juice or coconut.
Bland tapioca becomes his heavenly haupia -
the salad bar - a mirage of machiko chicken,
kalua pig, pickled mango and mochi.

There is a man I know
who in a moment can go
to London, Guam or San Juan
to our nastiest night or brightest dawn.

E komo mai (welcome, come in)
to a world unbound by mainland cares
to a man who crosses the seas of our sins
who sees the beauty within
who hears the Dulcineas of our days -
or the Aldonzas of our ways
who goes with us to our darkest parts
and dreams his Hawaii into our hearts.

This poem is dedicated to my dear friend and Brother, James Clayton, who has hugged me into his family, loved me into his soul, and transformed me with his impossible dream.


Posted on 03/12/2002
Copyright © 2021 Glenn Currier

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