Main
Character
I
went to see
How
the West Was Won
at
the Sunshine Theater.
Five
years old,
deep
in a plush seat,
light
turned off,
bright
screen lit up
with
MGM roaring lion --
in front of me
a drunk Indian rose
cursed
the western violins
and hurled his uncapped bagged bottle
of wine
at the rocket roaring to the moon.
His
dark angry body
convulsed
with his obscene gestures
at
the screen,
and
then ushers escorted him
up
the aisle,
and
as he staggered past me,
I
heard his grieving sobs.
Red wine streaked
blue sky and take-off smoke,
sizzled cowboys’ campfires,
dripped down barbwire,
slogged the brave, daring scouts
who galloped off to mesa buttes
to speak peace with Apaches,
and made the prairie
lush with wine streams.
When
the movie
was
over,
I
squinted at the bright
sunny
street outside,
looking
for the main character.
-- Jimmy Santiago Baca
Looking
for Wainiha
One
mountain vanishes, and then another,
as
rainclouds roll in from the ocean,
and
down the range at Hanalei a third peak
loses
its place in the new slant of squalls.
How
can I tell you where to find Wainiha?
Even
the falls darting down the cliffs
will
disappear from their vertical tracks
to
emerge singing among reeds and moss stone drums.
I can
only say that water has its rituals, dark
and
inexplicable as the chant of creation.
When
you arrive at the twin bridges of Lumaha`i,
stop
for awhile. The double stream will hold you
and
tell you a legend of gods seeding the flood,
male
for the narrow waters,
female
for the broad waters.
Look
past the gingers and plumerias by the swamp --
flowers
are for some other time.
Today
is the day for acknowledging rain.
See
how it floats the mountains and softens stone,
how
gently it takes you into the valley of Wainiha.
-- Reuben Tam
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