Grounded - Kathy Jetñil-Kijiner

Anchor yourself outside her room. A jaki
to sleep on, a cooler for drinks. Hands flexed
and prepared to ground her in this life.

There are some who grieve –
the weight there heavier than lead but you
grab hold of their ankles before

they can depart. You offer remedies –
a gloved hand against their face.
A mask-spoken word. Sadness pulls

us all beneath the waves. Endrein
you say when your mother enters
the hospital. Life is like this. You accept.

So many years pulling others from flight
harsh hospital ward alight
but who grounds you?

If I follow the family line to the sand below
which ancestors will still be anchored there
beside someone healing, someone asleep?

Offering remedies for grief. Instructions
for which leaf to boil, soft hands to soothe
the right chant to whisper into their ear

Would you have needed
to demand your safety then too?
Would we have listened to you?

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Kathy Jetñil-Kijiner (21st century) Marshall Islands
Source: Kathy's blog: Kathy Jetñil-Kijiner