Whitecapped waters toss barges about
in the dark of the Alenuihaha
as if they are toys.
Listing on massive sides,
chained to tugs; no intrinsic
momentum of their own.
Each night I watch as they roll –
dumb weighted things
pitching along to another destination.
Scarred containers stacked perilously,
one atop the other; strange multilayered
wedding cakes on water.
This is how it is,
here on Hawaii Island; all these islands.
Quietly we garden, grow our food,
live our lives.
Still, we shop in stores – searching
for bargains essential to shelter, mobility,
What would happen, then, if just
one receptacle, replete with precious cargo,
skidded free; bobbed clumsily before sinking
deep into the drink?
(I’m sure it’s happened before.)
Mainlanders don’t know, they on their
bigger island do not consider.
And why would they?
Lost to the world outside their door,
not hugging the sea.
As are we.