My Sister...The Writer

Needless to say I support my sister in anything that she does. She chose writing and she is amazing at it. She hooked up with an artist by the name of Esther Samuels-Davis who read 2 of my sister's pieces and created 2 visual pieces of her own. Here are the words and art. ENJOY DAMNIT!

Ko’Ko

There is a bird. Rather, there was a bird. What is the appropriate verb tense for a story whose subject is, aside from the caged few, extinct?
There is a bird. We call it the Ko’ko. It’s a quiet bird, you would hardly know you walked by one, if you were lucky enough to do so. Ground dwellers. Ko’kos don’t fly, did you know that? But, thousands of years ago, they did. They flew, trade winds ruffling under-feathers across the sea that led them here. From their mainland, they carried seeds that would sprout trees and plants. They couldn’t have known the significance of their flying then, so much flourishing as a result.
They navigated their new home in flight, planting as if farmers. From their position in the sky, they saw the tops of cycad trees, the elaborate tangles of tangan-tangan trees, like lace canopies laid delicately over jungles. They dove into rippled pools of waterfalls in the south, shaking their wings on cool rocks, adding to the mist, and taking off again into the sky. They watched the land beneath them drop steeply as they glided north then east, then circling again to find the sea on all sides.
The Ko’kos lived a great life here, comfortable in a place without predators. Maybe this is why they stopped flying. Did they prefer grazing the jungle floor for geckos and bugs and allow their wings to atrophy? Did flying became passé, so very last year? Is this what science would call evolution?
These brown birds stood upright as if attempting to flaunt their striped bellies, regal, almost human in their posture and propensity to walk. What was the point of flying? They were efficient on foot, and enjoyed the shade of trees, nothing to fear, no one to hide from.
So they lived on the ground, building nests in the crooks of overgrown roots with twigs and fallen leaves, living their quiet, secret lives. How could they have prepared for what was to come? How could they have known that their death would arrive by cargo ship? Hidden and writhing between wooden boxes, brown scales glistening.





To Build an Island


I.
Study brown knees rising in quiet bath. Their tender debut. Command tectonic shift, push mountain range above surface of sea.

II.
Plant seeds via mainland birds that have the audacity to fly and complicate jungles. Creatures to fill sunburned canopies, dim forest floor. Acknowledge difference of terms. Then field recordings: sqwak, rustle, buzz, whisper, hum.

III.
This deliberate movement: one hand from left to right. Sand fills negative space as atmosphere under arch. Waxy frame opposite slumbering lagoon. Worry about its potential later.

IV.
Mainland monsoons trade winds for fairy terns, walking species by sea on vessels to shame outsiders. Define endemic before it crosses you.




Big Up's to 2 very talented individuals
author: Clarissa Mendiola
artist: Esther Samuels-Davis