A Kapoho Christmas
It was Christmas without lights.
It was Christmas without indoor plumbing.
It was Christmas without carolers at the window
Muffed and warm under falling snow.
But there was Christmas.
A Christmas program at school
Where the Holy Night reenacted:
White tissue paper glued on spines of coconut fronds
Shaped as angel wings and halos.
Long white robes, over bare feet.
Santa Claus with bagfuls of hard mixed candies
Ho ho hoed by the plantation manager,
His yearly holiday role in the village where he reigned.
Fathers in Sunday best
After a hard day’s work in sugar cane fields.
Children in home-sewn dresses and shirts.
A fir tree from the hills,
Needles not lasting 24 hours.
Chains from construction paper,
Origami balls and strands of tin-foiled tinsel.
Kerosene and gas lamps
Moving shadows on the walls.
It was not the Christmas of my dreams.
No carolers at the window,
Singing Silent Night, Holy Night.
No large presents under a real Christmas tree
No fireplaces and rooftop chimneys.
No blue-eyed boy handing me hot chocolate.
For 18 years, the true Christmas
Lived in my head until Fire Goddess Pele
Came to my rescue
From the depths of
Kilauea Volcano
And buried our kerosene lamps.
Finally, I said, without a backward glance,
Running out fast in bare feet
On unpaved roads
To the Christmas of my dreams.
Frances Kakugawa
Forthcoming in the new edition of my Kapoho book
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