Voice of the Cane Field

cicadas sing dry mouthed

chafe like dry paper

the way the news unfolds

cane fields harmonize

steel breath of wind

through razor leaves

day & night the wind’s

barbered voice bleeds


A voz do canavial

by João Cabral de Melo Neto

Voz dem daliva da cigarra,
do papel seco que se amassa,

de quando se dobra o jornal,
assim canta o canavial,

ao vento que por suas folhas,
de navalha a navalha, soa,

vento que o dia e a noite toda
o folheia, e nele se esfola.

Time Catches Us Up, Small Lives, Fish

Diamond Head Beach Park, Oahu, day

after day I descend the rough path

to study the tidepools — rocky sandy

shallow bays — what holds air soon enough

holds water, glimmering streaks of fish

then no fish, no beneficiary proves them

no record of life or death, swim or flail

however many fish are left behind, more

follow, gold & silver charms tracking

a Mobius strip — life, death — one fish

Leaving

when children are small — very small — we leave

them in the hands of other people — caretakers

we have chosen to keep them safe while we go

off to work or shop or take a test or a hike

or we merely drive around to be alone, or sit at home

with a book & coffee or a drink, a few hours

without the clinging child — we tell the child what

is about to happen, we construct a world of more

children & smiling caretakers, yet the child

stands big eyes in a wide face screaming

not to be left, clinging until someone tears them

away — Phaedra lay face down on the floor

screaming until an hour later Erika came for her

this trauma of separation, they must be taught

because they can’t count on us, can’t count on

anyone, sooner or later we leave them for good