The Caribbean Writer

Saharan Dust

Jeanne O’Day


The air is still, laden with Saharan dust,
powdered bones of ancestors, an infusion
of the desert’s lifeless breath. A riddling fog
of red powder obscures vistas as fertile
sands traverse the sea on tradewinds,
seeding the seceded, casting cloud cover
where there are no clouds. The air is gritty
and insistent. In a day or two, ocean eats
the air, ingests near the shoreline until
the dust softens into the ribbed-smooth,
grooved bed of tides, and the ancestors are
settled once again.


Copyright © Jeanne O’Day

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