Living on the Lee

Lynn Sweeting

Today she took me west against her tide,
moving on down and around
the shadows of gabled mansions
rum-runners built,
giving to themselves eternal

vistas bella

where the bones of Lucayans
who drowned themselves
in waters beyond the iron shore
so as never to die
in the pearl beds
of Columbus’s Cuba
are forever bleaching
in a sun old
as their old souls.

I see you now
skeletons alive and moon color
reassembling and disassembling
like some neolithic jigsaw
inches beneath the blue

I see you now
spirit-dust in search
of bits of flesh and black hair lost
among breathing coral beds
piecing your bodies together
even as the wind
blows them apart
again.

You and your tribes
migrated from South American forests
into the Greater Antilles
and farther still
into the islands
of the shallow water.

Searching for the lee
you settled secret coves, sacred inlets

Copyright © Lynn Sweeting