Parents live in the shadow of the pali,
watching the young ones play.
They are reminded of the ones they left behind
in the world on the other side of the mountains.
And as they shut their eyes each night they know
their existence in the child's life is fading.
Can you hear them weeping?
All they do is live in the past.

The keiki live in the shadow of the pali,
tumbling around like rushing of water.
Running, twirling, and jumping;
They learn to dance in the shadows.
And as their eyes shut each night,
their quilt embraces their cold, shaking body.
They have long forgotten the touch;
their mother's lips on their foreheads,
and the warmth of their father's arms.
Can you hear them sleeping?
All they do is live in the present.

The old live in the shadow of the pali,
sitting on the chairs we have built
when we arrived so very long ago.
We have watched the young boys grow into men,
and the babies grow into young girls.
Storytelling and singing songs,
wishing to make a mark before we leave.
The best we do to create a better ohana.
Can you hear us teaching?
All we do is live in the future.

We are the people of Kalaupapa living in the shadows of the pali.
We are the forgotten, the left behind.
We watch as souls leave a lifeless body each day,
but our cheeks are no longer stained with tears.
No longer do we waste these tears that create an ocean.
A great love has created within our community.
Intertwined fingers connect the past, present, and future,
We are of a great diversity.
We have learned to enjoy the time we have left
and learned to love people no matter who they are.
Tonight we gather around the fire, dancing.
We live in the shadows, but we are the ones shining.
Can you hear our singing?

When I am at my best self I am a tree,
spreading my roots as far as they can reach,
gripping onto soil to keep my body firm and steady,
gulping down mouthfuls of the swirling, calm wisps
escaping from the mouths of passersby.
The very knowledge keeping me alive,
giving me strength.

No one notices the words and stories of others
sink deep into the core of my trunk,
strengthening my ability
see the scenery through the eyes of another,
to feel the beat through the heart of another
to live a life through the body of another.

You will break down the hard shell of my trunk,
only to find hundreds of walls circling my heart.
Pounding your fists against them will not break them down,
and using an axe will only create gashes in my skin,
but if you shower me with nutrients to keep me alive,
maybe these walls will start to soften
and the flowers will begin to bloom.

Occasionally comes a downpour,
when the sky begins to weep.
the soil slips through the grasp of my roots
swirling, swerving, mixing in with the puddle of tears.
The clear water turns to brown,
and I start to lose my balance.
The family of birds fly far away
the leaves on my branches wilting to grey
and all i am left with is a couple of friends
who i have to protect with all of my might.
And although these times may bring sticks and stones,
never do i forget to keep my trunk above the water.
The sun will always return,
warming up the coldness engulfing me.
The sky will return,
bringing color to the pitch black darkness.

You will find me often spreading far and wide across the park,
giving away various colored flowers to all sorts of people,
and they each decide what they want to do .
The seven year-old, a slightly messy wreath for her mother,
but the tangles show the complexity of love.
The seventeen year-old, a decoration on a canvas
the canvas is a portrait for his boyfriend.
The seventy year-old, just another to the collection
of the compressed flowers on a notebook for her granddaughter.
I make sure to plant love wherever I go.

When I am my best as a student, I am a tree,
spreading my roots as far as they can reach.
From the moon and back,
from the stars and ever more afar,,
I will continue to be
the best tree I can be.

Folded and unfolded,
Until the creases
Are old friends,
Lines faded,
To indecipherable smudges.
Rhymes familiar,
Sentences similar.

Line for line,
Word for word,
Name to name.

The weight of your memory
Sits in my back pocket
Like a signature hangs on
The end of a dotted line
With the scent of finality
Arranging it.

when i was younger,
i was afraid to step in quicksand.
jumping from cushion to cushion,
don't fall off the cliff!

when i was younger,
i was afraid to sleep without light.
covers folded under my feet
don't let the munsters get at me!

when i was younger,
i was afraid the day was too short.
indignantly holding onto my book
but mom, this is the good part!

but now?

i am clinging onto the cliff,
aching to let go.

i am surrounded by my monsters,
they're my only friends.

i am sure good parts don't exist,
that genre's called fantasy.

they said the biggest fear is death,
**so why am i so unafraid?