Little Me. By Hauoli Kahaleuahi

Gazing, gawking, I desired to be

Them, whisking off at dusk and returning

At dawn, clothing unchanged, toxic breath stench.

Instead, as she skipped across the lawn, jeans

Smothering her curves, tight, cupping her butt,

I laid frustrated beneath sheets, plotting.

It was 8 pm. I thought about what

Skimpy, stomach baring top I’d tie on

For a night out, adventuring here, there.

My mother lying close, reading her book.

I shut my eyes, pretending, my mind still

Awake, dreaming of when I’d be whisked off.

Morning. In with the sun stumble bodies,

Aching heads, moaning voices, they had fun.

Pissed, I roll my eyes, waking up in bed.

Life is funny. Today I whisk in, out,

Around, about, here and there, night and day,

Breath stench toxic, unchanged clothes, dirty filth.

Freedom is mine, independence in my

Palm, victory to my younger, little

Self, suffocated in sheets, 8 o’clock.

But what I’d give, do, to venture back to

Young nights, early bed times, my Mother there,

She reads and I dream, desire away.

Mornings of waking, knowing all that went

On the night before, having a vivid

Recollection of dinner, fried fish, yum.

Mother tucked me in, kissed my forehead, wiped

Wisps of hair from my tired eyes, love you.

What I’d give, do, to venture back, back home.

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Poem of the Day: Early Sunday Morning

BY EDWARD HIRSCH

I used to mock my father and his chums

for getting up early on Sunday morning

and drinking coffee at a local spot

but now I’m one of those chumps.

No one cares about my old humiliations

but they go on dragging through my sleep

like a string of empty tin cans rattling

behind an abandoned car.

It’s like this: just when you think

you have forgotten that red-haired girl

who left you stranded in a parking lot

forty years ago, you wake up

early enough to see her disappearing

around the corner of your dream

on someone else’s motorcycle

roaring onto the highway at sunrise.

And so now I’m sitting in a dimly lit

café full of early morning risers

where the windows are covered with soot

and the coffee is warm and bitter.