Run

My mother has always been running

she ran from the pua aloalo*

to my father, the golden coast.

He was the seafloor and she was hollow.

She ran from the pua aloalo,

never to make a house into a home.

He was a redwood and she was hollow.

A son left to listen to laughing waves, spitting sea foam.

Never to make a house into a home

even after the two were born.

A son left to listen to mocking waves, spitting sea foam

When would she learn, when would she mourn?

Even after the two were born

Tall heels clicking down the hall; a taunt.

Is she able to learn, is she able to mourn?

She has everything she could want.