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On Cooking Captain Cook
If you ask the blonde-haired concierge
at the Grand Kīhei, he will tell you
that we ate him whole,
strung his white meat on a stick,
filled his mouth with apples,
and slow-roasted him over fire.
The sunburned vendor selling t-shirts
in Lāhaina will say we ate him, too,
but only certain parts:
the head, heart, hands
wrapped in a kind of spinach
and held over hot lava.
The owner of the Hoola-Hoola Bar
and Grill will say we only ate him
for lack of fine cuisine,
rubbed his skin with sea salt
then boiled him in coconut milk
and served him on a bed of yams.
My anthropology professor, long researching
ancient cultures, will offer explanations
from his latest book:
The white-skinned men seemed gods
to those without metal or written words.
by eating him they meant to become him.
But if you ask my tūtū
while she waters her orchids and protea
she will invite you in
to eat, to eat.
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Brandy Nālani McDougall is a Kanaka ʻŌiwi (Hawaiʻi, Maui, and Kauaʻi lineages) poet raised on the slopes of Haleakalā on Maui. She holds an MFA in poetry from the University of Oregon and a PhD in English from the University of Hawaiʻi. Brandy Nālani McDougall was recently selected as the Hawaiʻi State Poet Laureate.
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Three Hawaiian women and one Hawaiian man sitting on the ground eating taro, with four bowls in front of them. Late 19th century lithograph.
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Author: Terence Winch
