11.01.06
“Snow” and “Braiding”
Snow
like a cold blanket,
an arctic shroud, white,
like Christ’s hanging from the Easter cross;
redemptive and pristine,
an almost welcome cover-up;
clay for mitten sculptures,
like a new infant’s soul,
a momentary treat,
warm tongues, chattering teeth.
Braiding
I answered you when you called
and sat before you Buddha-like,
leaning back against your legs,
facing away, looking out on the lagoon.
Your fingers worked quickly,
strand after strand,
squeezing little bits of foil,
threading beads two at a time.
You spoke in island melody,
expressing breeze and heat.
I thought you might tell me a story
of Africa, or the Arawak.
Lifting my face to the Caribbean sun
I dreamed this was my island
and not yours.
copyright 1997
09.12.06
Faces Barbados
In Bridgetown
I swim in a sea of black faces
and wonder who they think I am
if they think of me at all.
Why do I expect a smile
on all the faces on the bus,
acknowledgement, acceptance of me,
an obvious interloper?
Singled out
by the shop owner
he beckons me to the front of the line,
his arm making a sweeping arc,
as if to say
“No white face waits in my shop!”
I should have objected
and stood my ground
but I didn’t.
He acknowledges me
with a “thumbs up”
and a smile when I order
jerk chicken and salad.
The smile on his face
is genuine, I want to believe,
making him appear younger
than he must be.
Who lives in those pretty houses
behind solid white walls?
I’m afraid I know…
Who lives in those tin-roofed shacks
behind rusting, rotting autos growing in front yards?
I’m afraid I know…
Ought we depend on their being satisfied
with their lot?
I think not.
copyright 2006
09.06.06
“Things Change” and “Pink Grape Nail Polish”
Things Change
i like change;
i like the unfamiliar;
sameness bores me.
That’s why i live where the seasons change,
That’s why i don’t spend lots of money on clothes or furniture.
Old values are just old,
Time-tested ways narrow my options.
That’s why i live in the city,
that’s why i visit strange places.
What’s interesting is what’s not like me,
what’s entertaining is exotic, alien.
i like eyes that are not round,
skin that is not white, languages i don’t understand;
That’s why i stay in a place where immigrants settle every day.
That’s why i’m not afraid of what this world is coming to.
Pink Grape Nail Polish
(from a NYT news item, 7/7/95)
The words echo across the river
and valley of the Brazilian rainforest,
“Avon calling!”
Women in tiny villages sweep shanties
to prepare for her coming.
Today maybe a hot cinnamon lipstick,
or a pink grape nail polish;
or a scented candle to light
the family table at dinner tonight;
the tiny star earrings
may be just the thing
for the festivale next month.
she’ll want a cool drink when she arrives;
it’s hot on the river and the path to the village
is dry and dusty.
Will she take a chicken in payment today
Or will she insist on gold dust?
she complains when we can’t pay
because she has to pay Avon
out of her husband’s fishing money.
she says we are lucky to have her
because the river is dangerous,
full of piranhas and poisonous water snakes,
and she could fall in,
just like the Avon lady before her.
copyright 2006
