There is a house nested like a fat white dove
In front of the Caribbean Sea,
And when my world was new
I used to dance there, barefooted,
To the notes of the braided, thundering waves.
I raced the echo of my steps in the long veranda,
And shouted, pleased, as I touched the warm snow
Of the wooden wall, coppery at saffron sunsets,
When we would sit, my sister and I,
Scratched knees and wild grins,
And eat ripe, juicy mangoes under the green
Hood of the wide studded door
-Our fruit-smeared fingers mixing gold with gold,
As we pretended to touch the melting, sizzling sun.
I hardly see her anymore, my sister.
But when the grey city bites my soul
And life starts fires in my eyes,
I dream us back to the house veiled
By bougainvilleas and coconut trees.
We are sitting, in the glossy,
Ivory tiled kitchen, making tamarind juice,
The wooden spoon tinkling against the icy glass,
Like tolling bells on a Sunday afternoon
From long, long ago,
When the world was so new
Some things had no name.
Our eyes were so very young.