Huelo, Hawaiʻi
My father taught me
to give young shoots space—
Choose the thigh-high baby banana,
slide the blade of the shovel
down the side of the mama,
lift rootlets, soil, the whole being,
out. We fed the world
that pink & white sprout,
tucked her into ground,
pressed cool earth down
with bare feet.
Grow well, little tree.
Once the dorsal fin of a shark slid past Prana Joy Mandoe at dusk— a slow-motion moment of peace. She writes to touch humanity and the wild world within our reach. Her poems are found in Bamboo Ridge Journal, Hawaiʻi Pacific Review, Two Hawks Quarterly, plus…
