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Lynne Hjelmgaard

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Turquoise

I know what it takes to carve a coconut
halve it, quarter it
drink the milk
eat the meat

take a ride down to the bottom of a full moon bay
or drive across a mountain
that pastel village lining the coast
was better off before we got there
the sheep still wandered that West End alone
'till Jim got sick and died
he had sailed and built and dreamed himself away from
all those block buster high riser cities springing up elsewhere
better hold them out he said, keep them away from my garden
I’ll mind island life
some days working, other days not
as long as you’re making enough
nobody seems to care--nothing.
That was ‘85.

Now I dream on
setting our anchor down for
some more piece of that lazy
Jim’s pink wrap around porches
dripping of thunderstorm through
binoculars I viewed the white collar
of Benjamin Hughes’ short sleeved shirt and
George from Dominica’s imitation gold wrist watch
beaming on the jeep’s open window

Children in uniforms
running round that smell of
tangy flavoured soil and
mongoosed mud path
straight up to the top hills, fresher and
higher than those with whining sheep
looking down on

sails and sand and coral heads
jumping out at me --cove more bluer than blue--
with white caps foaming
the whole way across
of Soper’s Hole.

 

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