# data[].attributes.body
It’s happening

again.

Why?

Whose fault is this? No wai ka hewa?

“Can’t be safe enough, they say.”

Read da nūpepa!

Dey wrote about it in 1839!

Does anyone remember?

It happened before.

Over and over and over again.

Big waves of disease ,of “maʻi”.

Loss, sadness, kanikau.

Wailing, calling out in grief, names of the dying, and the dead.

Auē!

Plenny kanaka

wen all “make”.

Read da nūpepa!

Dey wrote about it in 1848!

One day,

we had to sell up.

It’s was tutuʻs house.

Termites feasted on the wood

for decades.

Windows all bus’ up.

No glass, torn curtains.

Read da nūpepa!

Dey wrote about it in 1853!

“Go clean da attic.”

That was my job.

I climbed da hamajang steps,

holding on to the walls.

My slippah got caught

in a collapsing step.

I found boxes and boxes

of da nūpepa.

From  tutuʻs kūpuna,

and da kūpuna of her kūpuna.

Read da nūpepa!

Dey wrote about it in 2020!

# data[].attributes.body
Déjà Vu

It’s happening

again.

Why?

Whose fault is this? No wai ka hewa?

“Can’t be safe enough, they say.”

Read da nūpepa!

Dey wrote about it in 1839!

Does anyone remember?

It happened before.

Over and over and over again.

Big waves of disease, of “maʻi”.

Loss, sadness, kanikau.

Wailing, calling out in grief, names of the dying, and the dead.

Auē!

Plenny kanaka

wen all “make”.

Read da nūpepa!

Dey wrote about it in 1848!

One day,

we had to sell up.

It’s was tutu’s house.

Termites feasted on the wood

for decades.

Windows all bus’ up.

No glass, torn curtains.

Read da nūpepa!

Dey wrote about it in 1853!

“Go clean da attic.”

That was my job.

I climbed da hamajang steps,

holding on to the walls.

My slippah got caught

in a collapsing step.

I found boxes and boxes

of da nūpepa.

From tutu’s kūpuna,

and da kūpuna of her kūpuna.

Read da nūpepa!

Dey wrote about it in 2020!

# data[].attributes.body
I stopped by to get my mail yesterday.

I stayed away the last two months to keep you safe.

I catch my breath when I see you at the door.

How did you lose more than a couple of inches from your spine?
--your hair get so white?
--your shoulders so stooped?
--your gait so unstable?

My memories of you
as a force of nature,
getting SHIT done,
blur into my vision of you now.

It's been six years since I handled cutting shears, yet--
"Want a trim in the back?" I offer.
You brighten up.
"Oh would I--yes!"

I gingerly position you on the same teetering high stool in your kitchen where you cut and permed my hair countless times.

Your hair is thin and oily,
there is a small patch of dry scabs on your scalp,
the clippings pile up on the floor.
The hair on your neck takes shape.

Standing to examine
the back of your head in the mirror, you sigh with relief.
"My hairdresser's place is gone,
you know. She closed up. I don't know how to get in touch with her...I was wondering how I was going to get this done..."

I did not learn to speak French,
sew, play piano, or bake--
but I marvel that I did learn
one small thing from you
that puts this
smile on your face
--m. soong

# data[].attributes.body
new words took the place

# data[].attributes.body
Guns blazing, bright Palolo sun

ascends,
suspends,
descends,

shoots fiery window shafts,
dayglo ruminations,
cartouche tattoos:
textures, grains, knots

embracing, blanketing,

warming me
touching her.

All better now,
for now.

Den,
da waiting —
going build up again.

# data[].attributes.body
No, not forgotten:
walking down the steep road to
Hanauma Bay—smell the salt
air, watch the hehe, look
for the turtles, see the mempachi;
count the Red Pencil urchins at the pier
by the Hukilau, remember
those noisy dinners at Zippy's:
the slurping over a bowl of oxtail soup,
feel the steam from a bowl of simian.

How can forget?

# data[].attributes.body
Wait til all pau.

You going wait long time.

Dis one, not going be pau.

Not all pau fo long time.

Maybe not befo I die.

Maybe not befo you die

Da ting not going die.

If you no can wait,

Da ting going build up.

Da waiting like one volcano,

Build up, build up.

Bad fo da blood pressure.

Bad fo da mind

And fo da tings you see and hear.

Da waiting going build up,

Build up.

# data[].attributes.body
I'm pau!
cannot handle
get too much
new news
but same
old story
pepo get rights
and act like
dey no can
make wrong
now times
civil rights
mean
no need listen
and everybody
make any kine
til all pau.

# data[].attributes.body
he yelled at me.
Why, I wondered, I hadn't done
anything to him.  I'm the best
thing that's happened.  People
should be grateful I'm here.
What would they do every night
without a chance to watch me?

# data[].attributes.body
--Must be true! Must be…

--Uncle, wassamattah?

--Da gov-nah went close all da ba-ba-shop!

--Barbershop not essential, Uncle.

--According to who? You no need worry, you no even cut hair, Shorty Lum, get long hair.

--I not Shorty.

--You not tall. How you got here, shortcut? Hee, hee.

--Shaddup Uncle. Whachudoing?

--Cut hair. You like me give you one short cut?

--Uh, uh. I like grow da back long. Everybody like make da tail nowdays.

--J’like my grandfahdah. Small kid time he had one queue. You know what dat?

--Like one pony tail.

--One braid pony tail. Like da Five Chinee Bruddahs. Dopey, Goofy, Sleepy and…and…

--Not, Uncle. You get um wrong!

--Wrong eh? You know what wrong? My hair going all ovah da place. I look like one hippie.

--Auntie said you used to be da kine, one hippie. Long hair, skinny beard, beads and smoke pakalolo.

--Naw, not me. You believe your Auntie? She da one, hippie. Free love. Oh, not supposed to tell young boy about free love. Anyways, wasn’t free. Was expensive. She got hapai, eh. So ho, dat make you cut hair real quick.

--You went cut your hair?

--No. I speaking figuratively. Her figure was what got me. Cut my freedom. No mo free love. Ass one illusion. Hair stay same.

--Allusion. Allusion, Uncle. You been checking my vocabulary homework?

--Naw, was one illusion. Magic, no such ting as “free.”

--Ah, I get it. You was tricked.

--Funny how you no can see when you tink you can see. How you tink I came smart? You!

--Not me.

--Old means you stupid. Young means you stupid. So no tink OLD is mo smart den YOUNG. You gotta figgah out what stay TRUE. Sometimes OLD TRUE is TRUE. Sometimes YOUNG TRUE is TRUE. So you gotta figgah um out yourself.  So no ask me.

--Ha, ha, Uncle. Das true. But I still like know what stay true to you.

--Why?

--I like figgah out if you stay one illusion or if you went get bolo-head, one delusion. I like laugh!

# data[].attributes.body
I know
of course
I've entered my golden years
six months ago
almost to the day
turning to gorgeous Coronavirus bait
luscious and low hanging now
come and get me now
mine me
turn me over in your palm
treasure me
then return me
leave me lying
tarnishing
in the dark

you fucker

# data[].attributes.body
Ready to unleash a song to share

With lyrics that express a kind of loneliness

Unknown before 2020, I tune the guitar

To a pitch that was unknown before 2020.

Before 2020 when music was still something

That flowed from places where people

Gathered to dance, drink, throng

In the kinds of celebrations pitched

To share not pitched to huddle in corners

Where music must shrink into tunes

Heard in leashed spaces where no ears

Are tuned to listen except in solitudes.

# data[].attributes.body
you can tell a tale or two.

You roused us in 1991,
when US terrorists
made bombs out of fertilizer.
You stirred us in 2001,
when we lost so many in NYC.
You opened our eyes a little in 2008,
then the money-men pulled the wool.
Now in 2020 you jolt us awake.
Calamity,
will this carnage be lost to us,
will we sleep walk again:
dead to ourselves and to those
exploited and forgotten?

# data[].attributes.body
Eh, wake up, you guys!
No use waiting for
"tings fo' go back how wuz"
befo' all dis corona stuff
wen fall on top our heads.
Nuh-uh.
Das not gonna happen.
Remembah 9-11?
Been waiting for airtravel fo go back to how wuz.
How many yeas now, and
still gotta take off your shoes and stuff,
still no can say goodbye at the gate,
and still no can bring your own watah insai da plane.

Now get dis virus going around--
Planny pepo
wen lose jobs,
no mo money fo' pay rent,
buy food
or get toilet pepa...

Wat about da pepo who
no mo' house,
our braddahs and sistas in jail,
and our kupunas in old pepo homes--
dey stay dying in biggah numbahs den anyone else.

You not sked yet?

Eh, who you wuz befo', brah,
dat buggah
stay gone.
We all strangas to ourselfs now.
Bettah get used to dis,
cuz'
dis da new abnormal--
no can
go back
to how wuz
now.
--m. soong

# data[].attributes.body
instead of that pitiful mouthful
of excuses you think
absolves you of any blame.
You own this fiasco.
MAGA.  Yeah, the greatest,
fool.  That's the song you
should unleash,
What kind of fool am I.
but wait, you can't even
hold a tune,
let alone your tongue
that you wag like a dog.

Apologies to all dogs.

# data[].attributes.body
I could not be with her at the end.

In the year of her leaving

I sang to her every day

On Skype, hoping

The familiar hymns

Would take her back

To a happier time

When we were together.

When she held my children

Close, and me closer.

I could not be with her at the end.

But I see her down the hall in Joy’s

Sweet face when I take her

A piece of marbled chocolate

Cheesecake. She opens the door

A crack at first, when I ring

The bell. Then a little

Wider as she takes the plate

From my hand. Her eyes smile.

Lida next door never emerges.

But her son is happy to receive

A similar offering. Please

Share, I say. “I’ll give the whole

Thing to her,” he protests.

“Oh, you can have some too,”

I assure him. Just as my mother

Would. I am the cakemaker’s

Daughter. I could not be with her

At the end. But she is with me

Always. Every day. In every way.

# data[].attributes.headline
Ready to unleash                                                    

# data[].attributes.subject
Ready to unleash                                                    

# data[].attributes.body
Ready to unleash a song
We choke. We cannot summon

The words. A silent scream

Is all we can muster.

Watching an empire

Gorged on its freedoms,

Decompose before our eyes.

A pouty, puffed up

Orange huckster waves his baton

At the bully pulpit. He alone

Is the Maestro

Of American carnage.

In this role, he #BeBest.

# data[].attributes.body
because dolphins once
soared abundant in the Adriatic
with the occasional pivot,
I imagine, to the Venetian Lagoon —
long before I was dazed by those sunny
cobble-stoned lanes. Me and my straw fedora,
cheap camera, and ravenous wanderlust
seeking the gold tiled basilica of
Piazza San Marco
filled with more tourists than
the floating city has wild
Murano chandeliers for sale.

Today, Italy is on lockdown, COVID quarantine.
Lovely Venezia is deserted.
No bloated motorboats for hire.
No suit case wheels, clunk-de-clunking before
the Bridge of Sighs.
Just cleaner air and clearer water.
Those dolphins on social media were
never really “Venetian” after all.
Still, I want to believe.

My memory of crossing the Rialto Bridge rests
on my front door  — a brass knocker
shaped like a mythical creature
hidden beneath patina.
Its dorsal fin and pectoral flippers, curly like feather boas.
Its rostrum, cast with an open mouth
ready to unleash a song.

# data[].attributes.body
but certainly
clorox in the veins
always kills.

# data[].attributes.body
even without knowing
or it could be simple
ignorance
indifference
or even
malice

# data[].attributes.body
the pandemic has retreated
beyond Georgia's borders,
says the governor
who supresses
the minority vote.
Hey, I believe it.
No one knows retreating,
governor,
like Johnny Reb.

# data[].attributes.body
since he said it
but if you believe him
you are as much a
--------(fill in the blank)
as he

# data[].attributes.body
Too crowded over there to get haircuts . . .      Get hair cuts, if you can, but don't let the barber too close.
You know, the six-foot rule . . .
best insurance against you-know-what.
Same goes for massage.
Don't let the masseuse too near.
He says it's ok to go back to work,
so it must be true.
--Jean Yamasaki Toyama

# data[].attributes.body
so dis year I only goin be one half year oldah
dan I was my las birtday.  Cuz

j’like I nevah live wit dis Covid stuffs happening,

j’like minusing days I not living right now.

Wake up, eat, watch TV, eat, watch TV, eat, watch TV, maybe eat one snack, go sleep.

My life not life.  My life shampoo ha-yuh.

Wash, rinse, repeat. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Sux!

Stop da clock!

I like all dis stay home or go out an die time back.

Come my Novembah suppos to be 66 birtday,

only goin have

65 and one half candos on top da cake.

An no mo even one good luck extra cando.

You know why?
Why?!?!  Cuz

I fricken need good luck fo no make right now,

not den, das why.

I goin light da good luck cando right now,

so maybe I can live to my 65 an ½ birtday.

An guarans, if dis self quarantine stuffs keep up long enough,

bumbye I like da whole year back.

# data[].attributes.headline
Even though I may be a stranger to you now, 

# data[].attributes.subject
Even though I may be a stranger to you now, 

# data[].attributes.body
I love you fiercely within these walls
as you glide through oceans,
laze in the trees,
roam in dirt where tire tracks give way to paws and hooves.
Which of you was the first to peek out and see
that the guns, blades, nets, traps, and poison
had gone home?
It used to be that to love you
meant to be in your world.
Now, to love you is to leave you.
Sometimes, love kills.

# data[].attributes.body
Everyting changed so fast.
On Sunday, I ate my last cheeseburga from
da Gazebo at Macy’s, Pearlridge.
On Wednesday, Bath and Body Works and Sephora wen close. Now, only online ordas.
Dat week, my last dine in meal was at Zippy’s.
Fried noodles wit dashi soup and one diet soda.

Afta spring break, public schools and colleges
had distance learning.
Get Zoom fo meetings and teaching.
All non essential business stay closed
and get da stay at home orda.

I neva know 2020 was going be laidis.
Doctas, nurses, teachas, custodians, everybody who work at grocery stores stepped up,
but get pleny people who need food and money.
We need more testing, vaccines,
anyting dat going help
cuz nowdays not like befo.

--Ann Inoshita

# data[].attributes.body
Excuse us for invoking the great Outkast, but … ain’t nobody dope as
them, they’re dressed so fresh, so clean. We’re talking about the
Marines, many of whom will apparently go to great lengths (ahem) and
break all kinds of social distancing guidelines to get a
Jarhead-approved haircut. After a video surfaced on Twitter showing
Marines at Camp Pendleton lined up at a base barbershop, top military
brass weighed in on the matter. At a Pentagon news conference Tuesday,
Army Gen. Mark Milley, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, was asked if
Marines could forego a haircut rather than run the risk of contracting
COVID-19. Milley was emphatic: "I think Marines should get haircuts."

# data[].attributes.body
Outside your door, I hesitate
Not knocking, knowing that you would feel  Compelled to open it and expose yourself
To the possibility of this morbid cloud
That now ever hovers between all
Of us until a time out of our sight.
I lay the food that I have brought
For you and my grandson down
In lieu of the hugs I may no longer give
Or get, ring the bell, and leave
Before even your eyes can wrap
Your love around me.

# data[].attributes.body
friends I knew, but no longer know,
we've lost touch, my age or older,
wherever they are, I keep them with me
eternally in my heart, and wish them all well,
hope they are safe, may they see the sea,
walk toward any water, a stream,
stop to touch it, I will touch it too,
so across oceans we are in touch again,
feel in the water that we are here,
living, breathing, safe, so glad to know
even though I may be a stranger to you now.

# data[].attributes.body
john prine was coming to
Blaisdell Concert Hall
in March.
I was about to get
a ticket for you.
but the price was
just too steep,
so I hesitated.
and then
as if Thanos snapped his fingers,
our world changed.
now is not like before.
john prine
cancelled.
now, he's gone.
like so many other people
now
disappeared
--m. soong

# data[].attributes.body
How long verbal DNA can survive.
For weeks now, you examine
How Our Last Conversation
Before The Rona Was A Fight,
review your records of
what had been
could be
may never be said.
Your  throat parched with silence,
you audit your account,
the words you store
building interest.
Still, when I call to ask you how you are,
it's the miser who speaks.
"Fine, fine,"
as hollow as the halls outside your door.

--Brenda Kwon

# data[].attributes.body
Just as before
when we could
fly to Paris or Peru,
take a cruise
to Madagascar,
watch the baby turtles
scurry to the ocean,
follow the whales and dolphins,
track the fishes at,
Hanauma Bay,
now these creatures are
alone—not bothered—to frolic as they wish
and the sky above and the hills around are
bright and fresh not like before.
--Jean Yamasaki Toyama

# data[].attributes.body
Cuz she no can
She da kine
at higher risk of
getting sick
of staying sick
of being one number
of being one hospital bed
I C U
I no can
see da ventilator rise

fall

rise

fall
without me
no can
So I go
Until she can

Rise

# data[].attributes.body
That other woman, right next door

To my mother, or the one down the hall,

Or the one she always has meals with in the home.

Any of those other women could be the one

To give her the virus that would mean

I could not be with her at the end.

# data[].attributes.body
Where did she go, my Mum?
I gotta watch her.
So fast she disappears
in the store!
Zoom zoom,
with her walker.
Ever since her test came back,
she hurries.
"Too much to do," she says.
Now this pandemic...
I gotta watch her
more, closer.
So she no go.
--Misty Sanico

# data[].attributes.body
I think Marines,

it might take the entire Marine Corps and more
at this point

to storm the distance between

us,

take it, break it,

because our hugs and kisses,

got buried by
stay
over
there
and

it was too easy to miss, okay,

for maybe a day, at the outside two,

the arms of loved ones,

who are now holding on anxiously only to hope,

waiting for the word that it’s over,

the virus tamed,

social distancing is no more,

we can embrace and kiss just as before.

# data[].attributes.body
Calm, cool, collected,
full of plans and ideas --
Where did she go?

# data[].attributes.body
you told me you have
insomnia
that's why
you always
wait for me
to go to sleep
first
and then
you slip in
hours later
after you think
I've fallen asleep.
you enter
the room
is dark
no more rustlings
of sheets or
pillow adjustments
and breathing is regular
but you are careful
not to move
too close
to me--
you settle in
on your edge
of the bed.
only now
it occurs to me
that you are just
practicing

social

distancing
--m. soong

# data[].attributes.body
wasn’t even a real word when

our second-worst President, Warren G. Harding,

promised he’d return us to it

after the horrible 1918 pandemic.

He made it up. Forged it,

probably without even knowing

that the real word was “normality.”

Nowadays, both words, the authentic and the spurious,

are fully interchangeable,

neither fixed nor flexible in meaning or authority.

Scary, when you think how shitty a President Harding was,

how long verbal DNA can survive.

# data[].attributes.body
It was too easy to miss

that shy smile you slipped out

as I passed by.  Should I

round the corner and

come up the aisle again

from the other side . . .

just to make sure?

There you are . . .

with that same

sly smile flashing

at that other woman!

--Jean Yamasaki Toyama

# data[].attributes.body
Oh, shit! Oh. shit.
I forgot to get
[insert essential item here].
It was easy to miss
on my long shopping list
but hard to find
on barren shelves.
Ransacked aisles
like canyons
echoed a stranger's
*cough* *cough* *cough*
not far enough, away.
The soundtrack to my anxiety.

Is it worth the risk to go back?
When a single trip is hours
and a full load of laundry?
Fricken [insert essential item here].
It was too easy to miss.
--Misty Sanico

# data[].attributes.body
way too much hair
I can’t get cut now

for who knows how long

like I haven’t had it this long

since grad school in Wisconsin

where I tried a few barbers

got lousy cuts

so I let it grow

until I came home for Christmas

then went to the woman

who’d cut my hair

since childhood

and she said

it’s because

they don’t know

Asian hair

over there
--Lanning Lee

# data[].attributes.body
Don't touch, don't touch your face!

Don't touch, don't touch the rail!

Don't touch, don't touch, don't touch!

Make room, too close, move away.

Make a mask, put it on, hide your face.

Wash your hands,then your keys.

You touched your keys! Hands again.

Alcohol, Clorox, hydrogen peroxide

(better make bubbles)

Sanitize your phone, sanitize your

groceries  (How?)

Wipe, wipe, wipe

Oh, shit!  This is too much.
--Jean Yamasaki Toyama

# data[].attributes.body
Mahalo for sharing your voice with us on this writing journey.

# data[].attributes.body
Over there is where I want to be
Perusing the closed stacks
Opening vaults
Discovering lost maps
Performing authority control
Shifting volumes so they can breathe
Mending the well loved
Shelf reading, shelf correcting
Over there
Shivering in the Reading Room
--G. Kuroda