Hideo

Hideo

Tradewinds.

Cascading down the Ko’olaus.

The delicious smell of rain-soaked earth in Manoa valley.

Clouds as soft as freshly steamed manapua,

the air as humid.

Your crooked grin -

My personal triumph every time I manage to coax it out of you.

There’s love in that grin,

Warm as the sun over Kapahulu, and as powerful as the winds of the Pali lookout.

In our own little corner of Honolulu,

Where fish scales become fine jewelry,

The grass is brittle and brown. Crunching like glass under our Locals.

Clinging to our wet feet like confetti.

Your skin, stained by a lifetime under a paradise sun.

Warm.Tan.

An engineer turned fisherman.

Our inside jokes as we pick the leftover meat from the bones,

while the stolen ocean wafts out of that old blue cooler.

Your voice, clear and calm.

Starfruit hangs low, edible ornaments dancing in the breeze.

My snack tree, where I’d perch and watch you work.

Where I learned the most.

How many more muggy nights do we have?

The sky - slashed and segmented by power lines.

The street lights dimmed in a fog of termite wings.

Homemade fishcake, under an orange halo.

That crooked grin.

Your rocking chair.

Those white shirts... ripped and worn.

Pineapple plants and concrete.

My beacon that I’ve come home.