Jamaica Heolimeleikalani Osorio

b. 1990, Pālolo, Kona, Oʻahu
lives and works in Mānoa, Kona, Oʻahu

When I think of Ea

One.

When I think of ea
I think of music
The breath breaking off the roof of my father’s mouth
How it’s the softest broken I know
I think of the makani
The way it must carry its own memory
I think of both
My father
The wind of his voice
How my first practice in visioning came through singing
In the malu of his mountain range shoulders
Under the breath of his Waiʻōmaʻo winds
How I would do anything to protect him

Two.

When I think of sacrifice
I think about lead cut against its will 
I think of the bodies, something like a pōhaku
Forced into small shapes to paint death on my ʻāina
On my people
I think of the way Pōhakuloa sings her own song
In the dead of night
Shakes us awake in her trembling

Three.

When I think of ʻeha
I see his face again
In his dark blues
I think of the ocean that must still connect us
But there are too many weapons between us to recognize our pilina
When I think of ʻeha
I think of
Clenched jaws and tears streaming like rivers
Across skin the same tint as my own
I think of my voice
Reaching out to him
“Brother, stand with us”
I think,
In another time
We stood on the same side
But now, there is me and there is him 
and the enduring violence of this thin blue line
carving a cavern between us
I think,
Mauna a Wākea also casts her malu of protection on him
I think,
That makes us family
I believe,
next time we will be facing the same direction

Four.

When I think of trust
I remember my mother’s fingertips
Dancing across my back
The way the shore break dances upon the sand
I think of all the ways
Love is a verb, a choice, a memory we hold on to

When I think of trust
I think of my fists
And everything I’ve lost to them
All the sand, salt and promises that crept out from between long fingertips
How I am not so much like my mother
The grace of her open hands
That can hold so much without suffocating
All the breath around her
How she never fails to make the wind dance

Five.

When I think of ea
I wonder
What will I offer back to my lāhui
With fists full of rocks
All their breath, all squeezed out
With names I’m still learning to recall