2022 Harold Taylor Prize
Face down in the sand
by Kalilinoe Detwiler
Bonfires are illegal but no worry, or so cousins say
Cousins know best so we trek through the brush
Until Makapuʻu sunset sand fold over plunging feet
Sparks ignite with the final flickers of a sinking sun
And the splintered palette is cast into the pit
Cousins and their friends pop bottles and toss caps
Into boxes of rusted nails
Lonely waves moan in the blinding night
Tipsy cheeks lewa around the flames
Lilting with firefly embers
They coax us from the shadows
In our eagerness we forget our slippers
And pitch forward into the light
you heard?
night marchers
We fall to our knees on the outskirts
In the space between our cousins
Smoke blooms from the gnawing flames and
Engulfs our bodies, sticking to our hair and embedding in our shirt fibers
We squint stinging eyes and notice
A single light on the black shore
night marchers
spirits
you know they coming when hear the drum
We sift our hands through sand and search for small twigs
We came because cousins talk about bonfires, and because
The police never care, or so cousins say
When they notice the red and blue glow creeping along the dry mountain wall
They toss sand on the pit to dampen burning coils
Before stoking again with voices and driftwood spears
The faraway light notices our cousins warning
Dimming briefly before blazing again
s’posed to get naked
stupid, why they care if you naked?
We cup cool sand and pour grains like water along cousins legs
As they pass the story between each other
you lie face down, flat–
head to the ground
hold your breath
if they catch you
They notice we are listening and their dimples deepen knowingly
they take you
We look away, beyond cousins flushed faces
In the distance more lights sprout
Soon a trail of teardrop flames outline the shore
A troupe of random woods and colored smokes
Someone else's cousins
Move as one without forgetting a single member of the procession
We, too, are not alone
But as we fixate on the slow approach of far away torches
We reach for the bonfire to calm the chicken-skin prickling our arms
don’t look up
you make eye contact you call the name of your ancestors
you gotta, or you gonna be–
You like catch crabs?
Cousins hand us buckets that echo against our heels
and a flashlight whose blue light makes us hunger
for the fire that sinks farther and farther away
There is much to be feared on this journey
like invisible rocks that puncture our soles
or our souls wandering into the sea
washing up against the break
and gouging against razor reefs
But we go because it is our turn to go, or so cousins say
We stop and peer into the sweeping ocean
Bodies lonely at sea on an empty night
We know the night is not empty, nor the ocean a lonely place
Cousins never feel lonely, cousins never empty, cousins never fear
We fear
Is it the night that quenches even our lamp
or the trail of fires inching toward us
marching, insistently, in straight lines–
never stumbling, feet never plunging–
a march of stillness, illuminating order–
when we reach for each other and lock fingers with elbows
the flashlight dies
We are swallowed in darkness
The torches approach and under them warred faces and shadowed bodies
float forward like unwavering sails on smooth waters
the dull booming of their drums mix with the spirited ocean’s clamor
We fall to the earth connected by numb limbs
and shove our faces against the sand, asleep, invisible–
pretend to be empty
pretend to be alone
We aren’t pretending anymore
We are afraid
But not of the warriors, kānaka whose feet fall
breaths away from our hands pressed palms against the earth
We’ve no reason to be afraid of their drum or of torch
or that our sticky sea smoke scent might waft on upward wind
We are afraid because we are curious
When we raise our heads and our eyes meet
a voice smothered in sand fails to call out–
a name
We do not know our ancestor’s name
Cousins far away stoke flame with cousin tongues
But here we lay alone in the dark where all we can do is be still
Until we relearn the ocean’s song
Until our lungs are soothed-by beloved’s burning breath
Until we remember the names of those who march
Under torchlight along the far shore