It's Raining in Honolulu

It's Raining in Honolulu


There is a small mist at the brow of the mountain,
each leaf of flower, of taro,
tree and bush shivers with ecstasy.

And the rain songs of all the flowering ones
who have called for the rain

can be found there, flourishing
beneath the currents of singing.

Rain opens us, like flowers, or earth that has been thirsty
for more than a season.

We stop all of our talking, quit writing or blowing sax
to drink the mystery invoked by the night rain.

We listen to the breathing beneath our breathing.

This is how we became rain.

Translated, this means a white flower behind your ear
is saturated with faith after the second overthrow.

We will plant taro where there were curses.


Joy Harjo