Koa
by Andrew Shattuck McBride
Acacia koa, a tree native to Hawai‘i. Also, a warrior.
1.
After my tenth birthday and her move to the Mainland,
Kit—the younger of my two sisters—enlisted in the Army.
Kit was stationed in the lower forty-eight, served her hitch.
A Vietnam-era veteran, she reminds me of Dad.
Lean and capable. Whip-smart. Fearless.
2.
Dad asked, What is the tree that goes
to war? To his delight, I answered, Koa.
Dad had me plant the koa sapling
he brought home several yards away
from the towering ‘ōhi‘a tree
he could see from his kitchen window.
We called the koa my tree.
It flourished, soon grew tall as the ‘ōhi‘a.
While mowing the lawn, I found
seedlings around the koa’s base.
I ran to tell Dad, I’m a father.
The koa has keiki! We planted
the koa’s keiki along the property line
and throughout Dad’s backyard.
3.
On my sixteenth birthday Dad said, We’re going to see Kazu Okamoto
the postmaster. Dad drove me to the Volcano post office.
Dad’s friend Mr. Okamoto—with two sons of his own—
watched as I registered for the Selective Service.
I remember how kind Mr. Okamoto was,
how his eyes twinkled with humor.
4.
Before I left for college on Oʻahu, I saw my koa had rot at its core.
It disturbed me, but I didn’t tell Dad. He would know, soon enough.
5.
Two of my friends were in Air Force ROTC.
They urged me to sign up. One said, ROTC pays
for our books, and we get to wear this uniform.
The other added, You just have to pledge
a two-year commitment.
I remembered the Vietnam War. The lies, the carnage,
the burning, the nightly recaps with body counts.
I was adamant. I’m not joining any ROTC.
6.
Dad offered, When these koa trees get big enough,
you can sell the logs. Or, you can build a new house
or refurbish the old house with the wood.
Mortified, I thought, Oh, hell no. Are you kidding me?
7.
In 1984 I was out of work,
needed a job desperately.
I joined the Navy.
From New Mexico, I called
long distance to inform Dad.
I thought he would be pleased.
Dad was groggy from being
woken from a nap. The line
crackled with static, disbelief.
8.
In 1994, my ship USS Peleliu (LHA-5)—named for
the 1944 battle my father fought in—stood off its namesake,
a low dense green island, to observe the fiftieth anniversary
of the battle. In my Dress Whites, I stood in formation
on the flight deck, paying homage to Dad.
9.
If I had my way, the biggest, straightest koa from Dad’s
property would be carved into an outrigger racing canoe.
Even better, carved into one of a Hawaiian voyaging canoe’s hulls.
10.
I attend the Bellingham Peace Vigil occasionally,
stand with fellow vigilists holding signs.
I show the peace sign to occupants
of vehicles. An offering.
“After my parents divorced when I was six years old, I learned love for trees from Dad and love for birds from Mom. Dad and Mom each passed away many years ago; these poems are my way of continuing to talk with them.” —Andrew Shattuck McBride
Andrew Shattuck McBride is a Navy veteran. Based now in Washington State, he is co-editor of For Love of Orcas (Wandering Aengus, 2019). His work is forthcoming or appears in Rattle, Clockhouse, Crab Creek Review, Black Horse Review, Empty Mirror, Pensive: A Global Journal of Spirituality & the Arts, Evening Street Review, Pontoon Poetry, The Ravens Perch, and Months to Years.