Pikomanawakupono

by Brian Doyle

In recent weeks, while wandering among islands in the ocean,
I met people named Hua, Wao, Tufu, Tutu, Puna, Wi, and Hu,
Not to mention a totally silent man from Estonia named Hooh,
Who the whole extent of his conversation was to nod six times
In the twenty minutes we spent together, this was in Kapiolani,
But perhaps the most rivetingly monikered lad I met in Hawaii
Was a youth named Pikomanawakupono, who was a startlingly
Silent fellow also, and in the couple of cheerful hours we spent
Together, this was in Hanalei, he only spoke twice that I recall,
And both times he uttered words in a tongue I don’t understand
Yet, but to be fair I don’t think anyone else quite caught his gist
Either, because Pikomanawakupono has just recently arrived on
This island after a voyage I cannot even dimly begin to imagine.
You could say, with complete accuracy, that his traveling began
With dreaming, and we do not often enough salute how a vision
Insists on being born, how what we imagine so often takes shape
In this world, in this air, on all sorts of islands, in all sorts of seas.
It’s really amazing when you think about it, which I think we are.
Anyway, the two words I caught sounded rather like piu and bub,
And then his mother smiled, and gave him more of her holy milk,
And Kauai sailed on to the southeast at roughly four inches a year.