Bamboo Ridge Barbados

This time, this place,
is not a dream symbol.

Sun bites at midday
Frangipani drops her secrets,

rain falls in the night
leaving daytime skies

blue, unyielding.

Today sea banks up
against rain clouds

monkey’s tails slip
into silent foliage.

My skin is honed by
sea and salt to a dull gold;

European colour of
unknown origin

The ice cream man’s
bell tinkles, circulating sugar.

I need my own sugar.

My mind a watermelon,
empty, fit for counting coconuts.

The island a tear drop from
Universe’s cradle,

clinging to coral roots
while the rest of us crumble.

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