Sierra Jacob


Duck walking for Kumu Hula in the carpeted
      garage never improved our dancing but the half squat
lent itself to weeding dry beds of keiki taro and gleaning
      green husked macadamia nuts out of red clay
we forgot an avocado must lose its sheen
      become dull in color for harvest that day I wasted
a wheelbarrow of fruit refracting light like dark stones
      how many times have we walked this yard listening for wind
to stir shredded banana skirts the same commotion
      found in a crowd of livestock nuzzling crab grass
from open hands my brother and cousin would gather horse hair
      from barbed wire using the strands of loose mane for hair fights
the old palominos molting coat strung up long trails
      of russet on the near fence catching updrafts we couldn't feel
it was the first time our boy siblings claimed us
      at school they said their sisters ate lots of Ahi and Ono
that their hair grew thick from downpours of Ha‘iku rain
      that they grew up and out of the neighbors cow pasture
those filly girls tossing up their heads belonging
      to this place, folding and unfolding.

Sierra Jacob is an MFA candidate at the University of Montana, where she received the Richard Hugo Memorial Scholarship for poetry. She is currently a poetry editor for CutBank Literary Magazine. Her poetry has appeared and is forthcoming in Sonora Review, LUMINA, Yemassee, The Louisville Review, Compose, Cream City Review, Hawai‘i Pacific Review, Pacifica Review, among others. She was born and raised in Ha‘iku, Hawai‘i.

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