Under The Canoe

Tonight standing under the canoe purchased
from a resort did it ever touch water this
ceremonial waʻa long enough for ten people
to sit inside I came for the music a wild
skillful pianist who plays boogie Rachmaninov
a cool sax player in shades Ricardo on guitar
lead wearing a porkpie hat and a drummer
well the subtleties and innuendoes were flying
and many were nodding their heads keeping
time I don’t know what made me look up
and study the straps their stitching a loose thread
at the kanaka end the stout screw eyes seated
snug to the beams lines taut bowline on the bite
kanaka and lupe a beautiful canoe butterfly
inlay and lacquered thick heavy as a tree
long as an unfinished song I’ve been here
before standing beneath this canoe hula practices
or kanikapila this canoe’s suspended overhead
tonight’s no different it’s frozen in time although
outside a thin curve of light called kūkolu moon
stirs my blood I poured the rest of my red wine
out on the ʻāina consider it an offering or
a blessing I wish us well with our undertakings
I’m glad I came out tonight the news still
warm on the home screen I think to myself
refugees aren’t the problem it’s refuge a place
to do what the piano player said tonight
come together for songs of love and loss
hanging on or letting go burning up or freezing
moving on or staying behind I left early
walked out beneath that long moon handle
opened up the night and walked in while
the songs were still fresh they say half
full or half empty I say standing under
that canoe the music rises up and keeps us
afloat not just up there defying gravity but
moving out there island to island looking
for new shorelines and answers to this
restlessness some of us call home