Thursday, November 24, 2016

Leaving Anguilla

The memory of an orange shed
Where a homily in lacquered wood
Embodied a dream of a family

A natural mystic clan emerged from trees.

It suited the locust bean, at least,
And pidgin peas, the goat-crossed coral street

Where cats were leashed in church grass
And chickens foraged freely.

Now I sit in Hungry's Restaurant
With the mid-day Mt. Gay crowd
Burying an inarticulate prayer.

For what was
Never happened
Except as I was told how to feel

The people wearing smiles like flowers
Were never revealed.

The first sight was all we got:

Overwhelming white with sky-blue sea.

The sudden suites and green estates
Will never take the hunger away
For an unfamiliar country

And so we forgot, not sanctified
By pebble roads, we had a purpose.

All the love you gave fell through
But a boy still waits in the sand for you

To carve a lizard king.

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