It navigates past me
beyond a thick yellow hibiscus hedge
near a clump of papaya trees plump with golden fruit.
I can hear it gliding through the water,
the hum of “Tiny Bubbles,” emanating from within.
The hula halau sway alongside the palm trees
at the mouth of Pearl Harbor.
Near the dancers, a pair of black-hooded
yellow-beaked common myna perch.
The palm’s fan-shaped fronds are waving in the wind.
The Ohio-class submarine is gunmetal gray,
seven stories tall, two football fields long, and as wide as a three-lane highway.
Meticulously groomed and sleek
One hundred thirty-four men line its deck,
standing at attention. Almost home, deployed for a year
Their proud families line up at the pier
Their forearms teeming with flower lei
Alice, ‘Ilima, and I are gleefully taking notes
The sub is purring like a panther.
The Hawaiian god, Lono, is content.
2/10/26
Corney Press 