her lava coursing down our streets into our houses, like liquid gelatin, as we eat our cereal and go to school, swimming through her. We learn to breathe, to talk, to sing in her. Our mothers, our aunties, our tutus, our teachers drape their hair in Pele’s tears, sparkling and shimmering like fish. Our father, our uncles, our tutus, our teachers tell us to welcome her into ourselves, become one with her, she is the land, she is our life. We swarm in our classrooms, pledging ourselves to her. Sometimes we miss our TVs, our radios, our lights. Electricity and electronics don’t work in Pele. She shows us her stories in swirling lava, better than any cartoon. We gather outside under the stars and sing her praises, night no longer a place for ghosts and demons to hide. Until one day, Pele gets bored, finds a new island to call home, leaving us empty.
