Postcolonial Poetry

Its the kind of writing that makes you see yourself within dominant systems that organize the world. To recognize our complicity in what we call unjust or corrupt, helps us to recognize the mechanics of colonialism and neo-colonialism.

The Realm of the He'e
by Ellen-Rae Cachola
June 14, 2009

The wandering fish of mu
travels through
the realm of the he'e,
an octopus that sucks truths
like a hungry ghost of landmasses past,
Forgotten, misunderstood
in the back of memories

He shoots
tentacles far and wide
to feed off wisdoms
that become centralized
in his computer like brain.
Some say
in Haleakala and Kihei

Don't you know
the he'e's suction is thick?
To slough
it off
is tough
cause its like quicksand traps.
Can't get out
like abusive relationships
between nations
thought to be in love.
But really,
where is the love within?

And on those long tentacles
that stretch,
thousands, millions, quadrillions of suction cups
grow like opihis mutated
with teeth,
bloodthirsty
tastin salty
quick to judge
good or bad morality.
and yet people eat them
like nothin'!

And then
when the person take one shit
thats when they spread
to different lands
cancerous coming up
indigestion of consumptions
pullin triggers of guns,
as if bullets were dollar bills.
Pay for a future
that can be worn
not to heal the wounded heart.
Broken shards
floatin onto shore
sportin aloha shirts
as if all is well
when the soil grows
too expensive neighborhoods
pushing into backwoods

what is left?
but the rage
when the message of survival
faces title
waves drownin the Hawaiian landscape

Addictions
just to get by
land prices
keep risin like insecurities.
Jobs and education
for born and raised feed
disconnected stems of proteas
lie at unmarked graves
displaced
names
waitin to be regained
by those those who seek to retrace the footsteps
1898
manifest destiny
when the world
was blinded by colonial mentality
crystallized
the erasure of memory
of the he'e who brought to life
culture from east to west
west to east
turned him into a beast
when he is just forgotten, misunderstood
in the back of your memories

Welcome, to the head of the he'e
some think they come to escape
to run away from the discontents
of suburban landscapes
or fast pace of city life...
Consume exotic fruits
to include oneself in the garden of eden?

The truth is that story's value
was subject to inflation
commodification
reduced to economic narratives
of divide and conquer the wealths
that lived as land bridges
across island nations.
and in the poverty and absence
lives the wisdom of endurance
amidst a world blinded by arrogance
and yet, the songs of the past
played a rhythm of bodies paddling across
vast oceans
farmers striking injustice of unemployment
and dreams planted in rows of Hawaiian soil
waiting for the time
when children would
sing knowledge of ancient lands
echoing in the doldrum mindsets
of masses

This name is the frequency
indebted to essence of memory
planted in land
and grew people who choose to eat
for continuity.

Respects are paid
as food laid out
to the he'e
entangled in all our histories...