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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

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