Winter 1985 • Vol. VII No. 1 Poetry |

Siesta: Barbados

From bed we heard the gardener move down the hedge of oleander, chopping out the weeds with her long, curved cutlass, and singing. A lizard gripped the coarse stucco of the ceiling. It pulsed, it cocked its head; and when the bladerang out against a stone it flicked its question mark of a tail around to the other side. . . .Sea breeze swelled the curtain, and tried the shuttered door . . . .and then you reached for the hem of my red dress with blue leaves and lemon lilies—the one you bought for me from the woman who came to our porch balancing a bundle on her head.

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