I open my eyes to
the heat of the sun. Warm
winds wrap emerald fields
and the papaya tree grows
so fast it almost talks to me.
They say it’s winter in Hawai’i.
What do I remember from home?
The icy bite of frost or darkened
sky. The oak tree stripped
bare in December and I would
sing joy for dying grass, oh how
I hoped it would get cold in Heaven.
I live in eternal summer:
“Kau wela mau”
The saffron finch is in love with
it, and she does not need
the bleak morning chill to
write a poem. She cherishes
what she has and
I am learning from her.