The Cuvu Villagers take Communion

The Cuvu Villagers Take Communion

for David Makutu Vosailagi

Five minutes into the Fijian sermon
and my mind wanders: I find myself
looking at the children looking at us,
we whites who have come from the other world
of the resort island to their communion.

Sunday-bright, like petals strewn on the pews,
the children eye us shyly, in quick sips,
except for the little one who glides
to stroke my arm and study my pale face
before her sister hisses her to her side;

and nudge each other, talking with hands
across the church to friends and cousins -
loving Jisu, but suffering stillness badly.
The church is full of their sibilant whispers
like wind in palm leaves, feet in white sand.

And in this airy hall where the trade winds
stir the pages of the hymnal, it is not wrong
to hear them murmur, to see them grin,
nor that a yellow village dog should amble in
to sniff at the naked feet of choristers.

The sermon ends. The congregation sings
in their mysterious tongue, the hymn
incomprehensible, achingly beautiful,
rising and soaring until the church rings
with complex harmonies of triumph and love.