Waiting in Barbados,
For him to come to his senses.
The heat makes fools of us all,
Save for those used to its
Fiery caress,
Not much cooled
By the lukewarm sea.

Under the palm trees I can wait,
An eternity it seems,
Sipping *** straight from the bottle
Refusing the beads and conch shells
From the beach boys
By the turquoise sea.

Only when the sun sets, quick, surprising,
Its luminous frangipani
Red, thrown down from peach-colored clouds
And night falls soft.
Music from old Bridgetown,
I can go out and forget.

Then I dance to familiar, foreign beats,
Offered to the passing ear,
Pulling me further away from the northern frost
I begin to lose perception,
The moon and stars realign,
Washing away care for possible pasts.

But, waking up on the cooling sand,
Full moon, like an old woman scolding,
Silver-crowned waves roll in,
Irreverent, laughing at me
And I see I am such a stranger
To the land,
To the absence of him.

One last swim in the sand-bottomed pool,
Beneath the cliff, walls sheltering,
Limpid water caressing and
Crystal sun trying to blind me.
I must arise before I forget,
Leave here before it claims me
And rush back home to wait.

September 22, 2002