education, and: The poet imagines her ancestors watching her smoke a joint

education, and: The poet imagines her ancestors watching her smoke a joint Lark Omura (bio) education When the moon swells to gourdscan the shore for man o’war blue.If stung, use piss to calm. Green papaya also.It helps bee stings, has the same enzymesas meat tenderizer. Piss in the firepit campingwhen you wake and rise smelling country.Make sure it’s out before leaving.Never bury hot coals in the sand.Bury cowrie shells in the earth after soakingin fresh hosewater. Let the ants eat the meatout to avoid the smell. Dig up. If you smell funkdrifting from the rocks the fisherman probably hookeda reef shark by accident. Chain up the dog that day.Sharks have no bones. Sharks are not attracted to periodsbut watch out, someone’s been chumming the waterthere cause too many randos are parking by the gateto surf. The uncle who lives there will slash your tires.Sunday’s procession of lifted trucks is headingto the cockfights. Not a place for women but pregnant onesare good luck. Roosters help with centipedes.If you see a baby centipede its mother is likely near.If your mother needs help, show up.If you swallow a fishbone eat a ball of rice.Always soak your rice before cooking.Never take bananas on a boat. Never turn your backto the ocean. If you feel seasick, focus on land.When I die, scatter me from the rocksbehind the house. Let ’iwa birds circlingthe sky tell you when the rains will come. [End Page 163] The poet imagines her ancestors watching her smoke a joint from the pearl cloud distance they observe herunending frequencies of light multiply watch with fascination this girl with the short brown hair fold dry leaf into paper and twist tip of her tongue sliding across an edge scattered contents of her desk, her deliberateness. they exchange an amused nod downward at her small expertise performance of ritual still, she is captivating. fingertips courting an opal flamecheeks tense with inhale as thin gray threads of smoke unfold, an ancient dance beckoning not an intentional offering, yet they choose to interpret it as such here in the chambers of forever everything is motion dissolving study the bone curve of her nose, hairline her flickering eyes, maps leading back to themselves [End Page 164] how she gazes unknowingly down the endless hall stares directly at them thinking she is watching sheets of raindrops slant toward earth mostly they sit fascinated with her young beautyfollow the arc of her pupils out the window to the yellow-flower yard in her apartment five talismans glow among the earthly clutter: brass incense stand and candle holder clear glass beads strung on purple rope with tassels bolt of indigo shibori fabric purple silk kimono carefully wrapped in a trash bag and folded into a plastic bin they smile. both women loved purple and salty dried foods simple pleasures of being human the title of her latest poem makes them inhale softly at the word she uses to describe them: ancestors they were so young once. two soft bodies walking over this spinning, tree-covered thing [End Page 165] even from above there is no articulating its wonder the tip of the joint brightens orange, then disappears into the black hole of its burning gut, smoke replaces solid nothing where something once stood, choosingits colors in a mirror. the eternal clarity of beauty and pain two stones marking an entrance. [End Page 166] Lark Omura Lark Omura was born and raised on the island of Maui and currently lives in Brooklyn. She is a vona and Winter Tangerine workshop alum and was received a Hillary Gravendyk memorial scholarship from the Community of Writers at Squaw Valley. Her poetry has been published in the Offing, Aster(ix), Bamboo Ridge, and the Hawaii Review, among other places. She is currently an mfa candidate in poetry at Rutgers University–Newark. Copyright © 2019 University of Nebraska Press