I.
my uncle was lost in the honolulu airport
he fished out a wandering airport employee
and asked him if he knew
where the Micronesian gate was
the man smirked through blue uniform
you mean the monkey gate?
blood rushing beneath his
face blank and unchanged my uncle
turned
and jogged in the direction the man had pointed
months later my cousin told me the story and i
sat stunned
wondering why
would they call it that?
II.
alarms sound off
three o’clock in the morning our bodies buzz
from cramped beds pull-out couches and flowery futons
we rise
shove swap meet t shirts fresh tuna
macadamia chocolates and extra cases
of our lives into solid trustworthy
coolers snapped shut and bound with
luminescent strands of tape
we pack
everything
into battered mini vans and bucking SUVs
and as we sail along blank roads
we watch the landscape of apartment complexes
looming above dozing bars, blinking 7 11s and buzzing mini marts
karuji leddik ne. wake her up.
our eyes flicker open to muttering cousins
Honolulu Airport’s harsh lights flood
through the milky translucence of the window
as we drain our belongings from slide and shut doors
we chatter away nerves
rumbling and rolling in our bellies
At the check-in gate
sleepy Marshallese argue over coolers that weigh too much
a Pohnpeian suit urgently checks his watch while
bony kneed brown children run leap across
carts and piles of suitcases coolers boxes guarded
by graying Chuukese and Kosraean women
Families crouch and recline on the linoleum floor
we slide our slippers off
we make ourselves comfortable prop up ashy feet
the line to check in is long and
bag check – even longer
Saying good bye are one arm hugs and tears
sweating slow off our skin
and we are sad to see each other leave
and we are happy to see each other leave
we wave to the airport employees
we thank them
for handing us our tickets and carry ons
and with upright backs
we smile
stroll
past security
