Eulodia Dagua, "Empathy for the Solitude of the Kukuli Bird."

What makes me feel sad is the (cry of that bird), “kukulí, kukulí, kukulí. That’s what made me feel sad. We would be traveling on the beach returning from down river: my late comadre, my brother, my late uncle Ventura and his family, lots of people in canoes fishing in the pools with barbasco. In the early morning sun on the beach, the adults would be taking their time opening the leaf packets of food, the men in their group, we in ours. Then when they were serving the food, when the adults would be serving the food it used to sing pitifully, “kukulí, kukuli, kukuli!” “Listen!” [they would say], “The kukulí is crying because it sees us eating!” And they would laugh, “Ha ha ha ha.” It was sad to hear. It was that that made me sad when it said, “kukulin, kukulin.” Where do they sing? They sing high above the river. Flying [high above the river] they sing, “kukulí, kukuli, kukuli!” all alone. It sings all alone like that. Wherever I am I feel sad when I hear that. When people are eating on beaches, coming from barbasco fishing in pools downriver. It would sing like that when we were eating on the beaches. Hearing it would make me sad. Sad because you all were with lots of family? Yes, and by contrast it is alone. It is alone. Because it sings all alone of course and the old people laugh. Now I too, like the kukulí, would be all alone listening it. When I remember that I feel sorrow. I used to hear them teasing it without feeling. Feeling sorrow I would sing that lament too. All by itself "kukulí, kukulín, kukulií," it would circle now. Yes, that is what makes me sad.