The Last Leaving

Before the leaving, there is the staying, there are the days of in-betweens, sheltered in the arms of our mother’s mothers.

The tenor of days spent on land that is more water than ground, more magic than science. How during late evenings, in the dying light, our breaths crackle like thunder, and our history moves in everything.

Home would no longer be a place where the leaves would bend to the sound of our names, but somewhere that would come to know our silences.

There is no place we will go that will not know of where we’ve been. There is no place we will go that will not know our songs.


photo of a green pond with pink lillies

Praying Mantis

The praying mantis was a sprite. I felt foolish for possessing the ability to speak in the company of this mute universe.

All I Know of Coal

This is what happens when you cut the world in two:

photo of a swamp

White City

Most of our seen world has been colonized. While we work to regain it, we protect the unseen from encroachment, from being stolen and mangled.

image of an architectural structure

You’re Coming With Me

"The youth in defiance of this
violence is a kaleidoscope of names that challenge
the tongue, names as wild a vivid as the wings
of monarchs."

image of a cloud lining at sunset

He mele kanikau no ke kini i kāʻili lima koko ʻia

The last line reads: Your life, it has been seen, witnessed, understood, known, felt, recognized. Let us all move together until we can breathe the ea, feel our breath, rise in our sovereignty.