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A betrayal
to stand
with your hand
over your heart
and sing
the song
of the country
occupying
your country
to read every star
on the flag
above
your country’s flag
and see the last one
there: small, white
and pointed
stitched into the blue
with a thin thread
as if
it has always
been that way
as if
it can never
be undone.
Originally published in Black Renaissance Noire. Copyright © 2013 by Brandy Nālani McDougall. Used with the permission of the poet.
It must have been hard for him on days
when the sun hit the muddy delta,
sending up what smelled like failure,
rotten and man-made. Still, he drove
his old, rusty car down Pacific to
the college, where he sat by those
half his age who knew little of how
they would begin, how easily beginnings
Before the land was tamed by industry,
the oceanside resorts and pineapple plantations,
before the cane knife's rust, the dark time of sickness,
the coming of cannons, the bitter waters drunk,
before the metallic salt of blood, the rain emptied
into rivers, the winds carved valleys and mountains,
On viewing Gauguin's Mana'o Tupapa'u ,The Spirit of the Dead Keep Watch
The chill of violet around you,
Olympia of Oceania, you lie pito down:
a burnished, brown body like mine, draped
over white sheets. And for the moment,
I can't move ⎯ How did we get here?
Your framed face turning toward mine,