“Hawaii wildfires burn historic town of Lahaina ‘to the ground’” – BBC

I remember coffee-flavored ice cream at the Royal Scoop,
how it made me long to be old enough to drink espresso

like Dad. I remember stepping off the plane into the sweet
humid air, the tissue-paper feel of the Lei around my neck,

the taxi ride through lush mountains, that first sighting of
water, how the Royal Lahaina was so close to the Pacific

it seemed as if, standing on the balcony of our room, there
was nothing in the world but ocean, royal blue by day and

silver-black by night. In Lahaina I fell in love with books, reading
for hours on those beaches while Dad swam so far out I would

lose sight of him and Mom sunbathed in the pleasant heat.
I can mark my childhood by those trips. The year we watched

the start of the first Gulf War on CNN. The year a fire broke out
in our tower and we all stood around the parking lot at midnight,

shaky and full of adrenaline, as the firefighters battled smoke
the color of obsidian. Those were days of self-absorption, when

it was possible to think of nothing beyond palm fronds and sand,
lūʻau and dinner plans. Then it would be time to fly home to school

and friends, our dog Sleepy, tennis lessons, adolescence, the future.
When I was little, Mom would give me gum to chew so that my ears

would pop as we descended; once, I writhed from an ear infection,
pain heavy as a universe pressing like a diamond into my head. And

I did not know then what scientists at the Mauna Loa Observatory
were coming to know, could not imagine that, sitting with my son

two decades hence, I would read that Lahaina was no more
—that paradise had burned to the ground.