Melinda Palacio
My mom was disappointed when she saw that all of her photographs from Hawaii were in black and white. Here she imaged reliving lush waterfalls and the fun trip the three of us took, my mom, grandmother, and myself in 1989. I have one of those photos of her being chummy with a fire dancer. How I miss our time together, especially around the holidays. She would have been 73 yesterday, December 5. When the grieving and nostalgia hit, I feel a little sideways, kind of like this photo. However, if one of my fellow bloggers can turn the photo around, please advise. Thank you. ( rotated but it acquired a watermark)
Ode to the Plumeria in Her Hair
Melinda Palacio
O sweet scent of a plumeria
affixed to the left side of her hair.
A single mom, she welcomes a local catch.
Unruly locks secure the fragile flower
as she walks along Waikiki beach.
A Chicana in Honolulu, she becomes
a wahine for a day, swims in Hanauma Bay,
tries poi and banana bread offered to her
by a woman waiting for a bus. I decline.
She never refuses an elder.
In her short shorts, lathered in Banana Boat
tanning oil, mom teaches me how
to sway my hips hula style.
Sit next to her and the plumeria’s perfume
lands sweeter than any ripened fruit.
The flower’s center is infant seashell color,
coral born out of an explosive ocean swell.
A hint of yellow surrounding its center
and the iris of the petal is a fortune teller.
At the end of the day, white petals brown.
Tomorrow, our last day in paradise,
she will find a fresh bloom. Every day
her hair exudes the aroma of summer.
O, how I miss those warm summer nights
when she was still alive. A grown plumeria
cutting from a friend’s tree sways
in my backyard, a reminder of mom,
our summers together and
her unwavering love for me.
1 comment:
From now on when I see plumeria I will think of Blanca and her joyousness.
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