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Island in Winter By Bonnie Enes As the ice floes budge slowly down the river, I sit at the kitchen table, sip steaming tea and dream I’m a Bermudian woman walk barefoot out the back door of my yellow limestone cottage hug a wicker basket to my ample hip, hum Calypso set the basket under the frayed clothesline pick up each piece of damp clothing snap it to attention secure it to the line with wooden pins while the slow silent oleander scented breeze lifts each piece to greet intense sun as I move to an ancestral rhythm toe each note into the warm earth breathe in the heady oleander scented air dream of last night in my bed, under the hum of the ceiling fan, beneath the transparent mosquito netting, between sun bleached oleander scented sheets while the slow silent oleander scented night breeze lifts sheer white curtains to wave as I watch the rise, fall, rise fall of his chest, dampness evaporate from his skin. |
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Document last modified on: 02/10/2004