I taught English as a Peace Corps Volunteer on a small island in the Federated States of Micronesia. The following is an account of one of my student's most treasured memories.**

'''

My most treasured memory was very sad.
We were at the hospital, everybody crying
and I just couldn’t breathe

I looked from my mother to my father
and they were both out of words
with tears streaming down their faces.

I felt like my heart was gripped so tight
I could not move a single joint.

We watched my little brother struggle
through the pain of his last breath.

I was not close with my brother;
we fought all of the time and sometimes
he just scared the hell out of me when he
lost control.

He threw everything he could reach
and hit me with anything he had in his hand.
I was just a nuisance and an annoying girl
so we were different people because
he is so speechless and very shy.

He had a very bad temper and it ruled him
when he got mad.

He was such a handsome young boy.

I stood there crying with all the other people
and he called my name.
I knelt down beside his bed and took his hand,
crying so hard I could not talk or see him
with the tears pooling and sliding down my face.

He looked at me and said
“I’m sorry about fighting and hurting you,”
barely in a whisper.

I clutched his hand even tighter.
He said, “I didn’t mean to hurt you,
I just got mad and couldn’t stop myself
from doing so.

Q, take care of mom and dad,
I can’t because I think I’m going to die.”

I was screaming at him by then
saying that he is not going to die.
Every word he said he struggled to get out.

My mom was pulling me away
but I could not be led away.

She was pleading and begging me
but I would not budge.
He was having a seizure by that time
and the doctor was with my mom pulling me away
and, for an instant, I thought my dad was going to slap me.

But he held me in his arms and told me not to cry
because everything was going to be alright.
I calmed down and knelt by the bed with my dad next to me—
he held my hand and squeezed it.
I held my brother’s hand with my other hand
and he looked at me with sad painful eyes
and everything went still.

My mom screamed and my dad froze
and I just cried even harder.

I pulled my hand from my dad and gathered
my brother in my arms and started to cry,
scream and shake him.

It took both my mom and aunt to loosen my grip on him
and my dad pulled me into his arms again.

This memory is so attached to me because
only once in my life have I been held by my dad;
slept in my mother’s arms.

And for the first time, my brother told me
comforting words and asked my forgiveness.

Everything was first-and-last because my family
blames me for my brother’s death.

I was treated so badly after that
but those moments were so comforting
beautiful and sad.

I love my family.
They just don’t love me
as much as I love them.

       My most treasured memory
       Happened when I was eleven.

       No one knows what tomorrow will bring.
       Maybe it will change.

“but if you have to move your best friend’s body…
…you’re on your own.”

Your best friend dies
Before your eyes
Somehow stays alive
Then what?

***** salt-licked hair
Brittle and frayed by medicine
World’s unfathomable weight
Trembling beneath the Wisdom Tree

Her whole being crumples (arrugar)
But her life-force remains intact
Body bone
Running on spirit reserves
Why is that?

She stands and cries
Staring into ether
I sit
Wringing my hands

Her tears strike the ground
In tree-gecko unison

'''

Pacific parasite super-strains
Blood coated throat
The full range of abuse’s color on all fronts
for decades
Attempted assaults, ****
Dengue
Giant Centipede venom to the skull

But worst of all
Rootlessness and fear

the monkey on her back
had a monkey on its back
   and was smoking a cigarette

'''

Have you ever seen someone
Completely broken?

Corpsic shell of a woman
Gaunt, wan in the tropics

“Don’t put your trust in walls…
…walls will only crush you when they fall”

Brick-bludgeoned body
The shrapnel lay like
Sun scorched
Novice-woven baskets
At her feet

But now she can see
And breath
Real breath

'''
Genocide’s a *****, yes.

Africans seem fatalistic to Americans
Baby boy body, Grandpa human- shield

“They’re your babies”
Short-lived, yes
But now they have peace

Witnesses still weave the jungle

What do you do with a friend who’s
Seen real atrocity? Evil?

'''

I’m learning.

Prayer is power
Will transcends the concrete (Bunkle, too.)

She serves realness only
Her seeking hands unweave the sacred
Time is of no luxury right now

Serve people through love
and Grace awaits discovery

'''
I’ve never carried a bleeding body.
I needn’t “fear the terror by night,
Nor the arrow by day”

But I saw someone perish
And resurrect

What a gift
What a gift

Gubaadagem, Tinmad.

It may be that the satisfaction I need depends on my going away, so that when I've gone and come back, I'll find it at home.
--Rumi

Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.
― Rumi

The wound is the place where the Light enters you.
― Rumi

Dance, when you're broken open. Dance, if you've torn the bandage off. Dance in the middle of the fighting. Dance in your blood. Dance when you're perfectly free.
― Rumi

four hours fighting tears
because here we patronize
and speak not to communicate
but to belittle and confuse

how can this be when connections
are smooth for days
and from day one?

is this the nature of retail?
but we facilitate thought
and knowledge through
booksales

I cannot read the preface to
Malinowski's brilliance
when we are slow?

coconuts, betelnuts and waves
I am on my way