Huakaʻi a Lehua
Story by Serena N Michel
Excerpt |
The night was still in Waiʻanae moku. All was silent in the valley of Lualualei. No tree stirred, and the water along the valley’s shoreline lapped softly against the sand and sizzled lightly on its way back into the ocean. Ulehawa Stream was smooth and flat, and the moon could see her reflection on its surface. With a mahina poepoe, the kinolau of Māui was defined along the ridgeline of Palikea and Puʻu Heleakalā. The stars were clear and many. The night sky was fully awake. Its stillness was ever-present and deeply-felt. And then a cry ripped through the air.
It came from the first hale along Ulehawa Stream, just across from the shore. The natural world seemed to shift and respond with the cry. The waves clapped gently louder, and the moon and stars radiated faintly brighter. The cry had been so sudden, it was incomprehensible with the sound of the water receding from the shore. But then the environment returned to its natural state, the atmosphere became calm again, and the cry was distinct. It was the cry of a newborn child.
SERENA MICHEL | is a senior at the University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa, majoring in both English and Pacific Islands Studies. The majority of her fictional work centers around and deconstructs ideologies of Blackness in both the Caribbean and Oceania. She makes connections between both regions’ histories and their diasporas. Michel promotes the embracing of indigenous perspectives by non-indigenous peoples on national, international, and global issues.