boys no wear flowers they stay wear maile
I stay hear my father telling me, their green leaves draped across strong shoulders like da feather capes of the ali’i, and I keep weaving da plumeria I wen pick from da neighbor’s tree and I no care what he going say, the white and yellow and pink look pretty on my dark skin and my teeth shine bright and I know I going be the most beautiful at the May Day, my lei circling me neck, my father yelling at my mother about how she wen let me leave the house like dat, her eyes smiling at his anger
They Should Arrest All Them Mahus
Uncle is always right. Aunty grumbles, the flowers in her hair shivering in disagreement, her brother always hanging out downtown. Mom rolls her eyes and Dad just nods because you can’t argue with the most successful man in the family even if you aren’t blood related. Us kids, we just keep our traps shut because someone will smack us if we talk back, even if we don’t, because we know Uncle stay telling us the truth. He get one nice car. He get one nice house with one pool. He wen get plenty girlfriends before he wen marry Aunty. We know he’s the kind of man we want to be.
‘Ula ‘Ula Means Red in Hawai’ian
I drape the red flowing beach towel over my shaved head as I sit listening to the waves crash against lava rocks and sand, the wolves whistling to my bikini-clad, coconut-oiled sisters nearby, coolers at their big sandy feet, sunglasses hiding their big eyes, their big teeth wide and grinning, and I dream of walking through a deep dark forest, cool and damp, a basket for my sick tutu, filled with malasadas, musubi, manapua, the wolves waiting for me in the darkness, hoping they will trick me into leaving the path, hoping they want me, whistling and whisking me away.