Writing Activity/Writing Workshop Week 2
When the moon waxes and flaunts it’s crescent, half is still whole. Just as a mix plate or a poi dog isn’t a second thought but a mundane memory of local familiarity; neither was being raised hapa on an island separated from the tales of the mainland by an abyss of rolling aqua hills and the crisp salt air, that tainted the tongues of the people who flocked to this promise island like minabirds when one keiki went drop their musubi. Looking for an opportunity, a lively hood, their own special grain of rice.
“Aqueducts and black and white photograph became the treasure map to an almost forgotten history. Submerged in lumbering stocks of bitter sweet sugar cane and sleeping grass. The graves once forgotten.”