Sleep on, dear friend,
the lava has stopped flowing,
your house was spared.
Sunlight ripples the koa trees,
shy young seals are returning
to the beach one by one.
Far away a dog barks.
Sleep on, uncaring,

There will be coconut juice,
the scent of almonds
when you wake up, but not yet,
while your lids stay shut, no
can leak from your eyes,
your cracked cups.

Give me a little blue to fly toward,
that’s all I ask,
time enough to leave this island
under the breath of the mountain,
for the birds to fly safely
over the volcano.

Trish has poems published or forthcoming in Right Hand Pointing, Blast Furnace Press, Off the Coast, Eunoia, Fat Damsel, the late Seattle Poetry Review and others. She divides her time between Seattle and Hawaii. Right Hand Pointing will publish a chapbook of her short poems in December 2017.


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