Amelia Redux 1937-2012:
A Pilot's Log 

Saipan 

I walk to Garapan City,
Fruit's in season--
Pineapple, mango,
Sugarcane,
Laguana tillage
Surround village-- 
Magenta bougainvillea
Bursts with timed color
Between
Tin-roof houses, cinema,
Ishi-Shoten dry-goods.
Ladies wear print dresses,
Carry sun-umbrellas
Big as half-hemispheres,
Refuge from rays
And coral dust
Carabaos wood carts
Are outnumbered 
By shiny-cars braked
Along main-seam.
Hotel Kobayashi-Royokan:
Retained by Kempei police
To quarter politicals,
Hoists pilaster facade
With veranda,
On road's east side.
I look to 2nd floor panes,
Walk 'round back,
See laundress, Joaquina,
Hanging bedding on clothes-line,
I give her my pyrite disc,
She says:

I did laundry for the Japanese and other prisoners
who stayed here. One day when I came to work
she was here--a white lady--The police never left
her. I was given her clothes to clean. I remember
pants and a jacket. It was leather or heavy cloth,
so I did not wash it. I rubbed it clean.


Saipan

 I roam perimeter 
Of tiny yard 'twixt
Hotel and bungalow,
My "round-the-world"
--Reduced--
To rectangle patch.
Neighbor Matilde,
Brings me mangoes
And broiled breadfruit
From her kitchen,
I give her my 
Pearl and white gold ring,
She says:

The woman came to our house and sort of peeped from the
outside when she was coming from or going to the outside 
toilet. And that was how she used to pass by our house, 
because we were located between the short distance of the
place where she was staying, called a hotel, and the outside
toilet....There was on one side of her body something that
looked like burns from cooking by oil. She got burnt. It was 
on one side of her and her hand had burn marks.


Saipan

Gregario Sablan,
Saipan's learned man,
Forced by kioga personnel
To be translator for prisoners,
Speaks Chamarro, German,
Spanish, Japanese, English,
He chants: 

Outside Kobayashi Hotel, she stands
Contemplating stars. Washi banners hang
From shop awnings; express wishes written
In black ink and dew. Ornate street lamps glow,
Highlight metal buttons on uniforms
Of her Kempeitai interrogators.

She's shoved through door by interrogators;
Pushed past lobby. Up stairs, officers stand
On landing, tap switches. Their uniforms
Blazon red and white cloth armbands. She hangs
Back, but is forced into upper room's glow.
Soldier slaps maps; she can't read what's written

There's a table, chair, characters written
On dirty walls. Her interrogators
Kick her to wood floor. Overhead light glows
Like a throbbing sun. They force her to stand
For hours. Lit cigarettes flare, ebb, hang,
From men's lips. Ashes sprinkle uniforms.

Black swallowtail collars on uniforms
Seem to her to fly. Could birds tug written
Sashes off of khaki sleeves, let strips hang,
Become nests, distract interrogators
For sec while she catches breath, stands,
Shields her neck from burning cigarette glow?

He has an iron bowl with fuming glow,
Pours cooking oil--color of uniforms--
Onto her left forearm. She barely stands
The sear. No hint of her mission writ
On face, or spilled to unterrogators
She braces self against chair, lets arms hang

Tea-kettle drips water; white rags hang
Over her face as she lays. She senses glow
Of bulb through wet cloth. Interrogators
Tie her down. Endless streams splash uniforms,
NCO follows instructions written
In handbook. H20 floods where he stands

Laura Stickney


photo of Earhart cell in Garapan Prison, Saipan, 
from earharttruth. Joaquina Muna interview, 
Matilde Arriola interview, from Amelia Earhart 
Lost Legend by Wilson and Amelia Earhart Her
Lost Flight by Knaggs, respectively. Kempei were
Japanese Military Police