LEAVING ST CROIX
The palms shook down shade to rescue us
from the fainting sand, and July's water was a little too warm to refresh everyone's bare feet. Heat makes the vacation:
that, and the outdoor ceiling fans and the drinks
with straws and pineapples and floating cherries. You tried to tell yourself it would be different if you lived there:
that the water was only that gorgeous silver blue
color because it belonged to someone else and not you
and that rainbow beach had problems and bills
like everywhere else.
But the hibiscus so red and loud,
& the bold humming birds,
the guava, palm and coconut trees,
the surf and all those tiny shells,
they shouted to you,
The sun gave away too easily its truth.
She slid nickel like down the earth's slotted edge, then finally out of sight.
She teased you to watch for her illusive green flash.
And the night on the island brought only friends,
and a dark blue water.
The island's rhythm slowed your heart and breath to match its own, to make it its own.
You knew you never
truly would go back to a busy life:
never truly leave,