Sunday sadness

By Konai Helu Thaman

Smell the odour Of the Sunday ’umu Empty, the coals smoking From killer waters.

The day’s haunting eerie idleness Envelops papa’s heap Of breadfruit crusts Scarred remains of futile attempts Of teethless gums; Pieces of Kiwi mutton flaps Flavour market-grown taro leaves, Welcoming change to Tinned ‘Ocean’ fish Saviour of now dormant fishermen And statistical farmers.

Cold manioc, once famine famed Now daily bread, Stares from mama's shrunken dish At tearless people with velvet shoes Who have ceased to walk The good rich island earth Of yam harvests And plentiful Sundays . . .

Come, look through the smoke Of the dying fire At grandpa’s ghost weeping And quietly cursing The forbidding sultry silence!