The Tide is Under the Moon

As I dry off in the parking lot,
I look at the bay, behind the women laying on the lawn,
Breathing versions of those “Dat Ass” stickers
On the rusted TOYOs.

As I dry off, stomp the sand off my feet,
another old uncle
talks story with me,
getting his kayak ready for a fishing paddle,
his upside-down Hawaiian flag wrapped around his head
Speaking louder than his tongue, his weathered smile.

“How da shorebreak? Beeg oh wat?”
“Nah.”
Always under report.

“Bumbye I no can make um out.
How da waves.”
Not a question.
“Get some fun ones.”
Never over sell.

“Shoots den!”

He is off, down the shore, rubbah slipper shuffling,
Dragging his old boat,
and the wolf moon rises tomorrow,
But we call her Māhealani, an excellent moon for fishing,
the first full moon of 2021.

Makaliʻi is lower in the night sky,
disappearing completely in a month or more,
But today, uncle catches fish
And I catch waves.

“Shoots, uncle.”