hula
Tori Grant Welhouse
i make up motion&charge the very air.
my legs rub together. my bare feet stomp.
i am groundswell. i play with currents
that foretell the gathering of a storm
on a far-off scrap of land.
palm trees bend nearly in half.
i have their rapt attention.
oh, what i am capable of!
i can sink fishing boats.
bigger than weather, i am now
the rumble in the earth,
undulating belly, self-consciousness submerged,
adorned with its perennial debris:
lily behind one ear, grass anklet,
leis, leis, leis.
i feel the surge through my feet.
oh, what a rush!
the lava i hide.
the skin i show,
the skirt handmade&tropical,
hothouse blooms the slit up my thigh.
arms, legs, long, dune back
do not yet speak pudenda.
it is hawaii day.
i am entertainment.
