(to my wife, nālani
and our 7-month old daughter, kai)
kai cries
from teething—
how do
new parents
comfort a
child in
pain, bullied
in school,
shot by
a drunk
APEC agent?
#justicefor
-kollinelderts—
nālani gently
massages kai's
gums with
her fingers—
how do
we wipe
away tear-
gas and
blood? provide
shelter from
snipers? disarm
occupying armies?
#freepalestine—
nālani sings
to kai
a song
about the
Hawaiian alphabet—
what dreams
will echo
inside detention
centers and
cross teething
borders to
soothe the
thousands of
children atop
la bestia?
#unaccompanied—
nālani rubs
kai's back
warm with
coconut oil—
how do
we hold
violence at
arm's length
when raising
[our] hands
up is
no longer
a universal
sign of
surrender? #black
livesmatter—
kai finally
falls asleep
in nālani's
cradling arms,
skin to
skin against
the news—
when do
we tell
our daughter
there's no
safe place
for us
to breathe #...
Copyright © 2015 by Craig Santos Perez. Originally printed in Hawai'i Review. Reprinted from Split This Rock’s The Quarry: A Social Justice Poetry Database.