My mother in this place rests in the dabs and strokes of her Three Volcano painting. I cleaned it with moistened cotton swabs, gently washing tobacco smoke and dust decades old. My mother in this place drips red and orange paints, the angry lava she had never seen down the slopes of one of these three mysterious volcanoes. And I know she dreamed of this future where the morning sun rises over Mauna Kea, the Snowy Mountain, Mauna Loa, the Long Mountain and Hualalai, the Jagged Mountain – all three dangerously dormant. Tera, my mother, saw this 70 years ago and dreamed it into being.
There was a female Pharaoh named Hatshepsut…whose hieroglyphics were chiseled out of the stone monuments…
But what last name will the children have? Why not both? If one last name must be chosen, why not the mother’s name? And why is it assumed I will have children? That leads to another essay altogether.
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