Song One:  Queen Conch

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I run the edge of the island's lee,
past Key Bight, Mallory Dock.
Lizards scurry from bougainvillea
to the feral beach where queen
conch, whelk, trumpet triton
crawl against a wall of heat.
Pelicans fish from tidal flats,
loggerhead turtle shakes
a sponge in his beak.
The air is fragrant
with leaves; jacaranda
buttonwood, mahogany.
I run past the coral reef
that claimed Spanish galleons,
along the southernmost point
where turquoise houses scallop the sea,
stretch their cupolas, widow’s walks
and tin roofs beyond the Atlantic.
Butterflies spring up in profusion,
lift and circle. Bright yellow crowns
beat as one dazzling wing.
 

Song Two:  Hurricane House

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We make cigars on Elizabeth Street,
roll the leaves between palm and thigh
as the hurricane hums from the sea.
Pelicans start, turtles lift their heads
to watch the green, swollen sky.
Windows flex, fly west over
our heads. Wooden pegs squeal
in the walls. Scuttles wag
their tongues, rip from the roof.
We shake our petticoats and run.
The cigar maker's house shudders
from its stone, tumbles across
the cay, doors open like the wings
of a frigate bird. Work benches
fling splintered slats upward.
Chavetas whicker through thick air.
The gumbo limbo tree splits, bark
peeling in strips. We pull the braids
from our hair and dance, as frangipani
blossoms burst open on the fragrant lawns.

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Notes: Chaveta translates literally as pin, but was actually a knife used in making tobacco at the turn of the century.
 

Song Three:  Bone Lullaby

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Cante la arena blanca,
sal rota sobre la playa,
corazón del delfín
montando su onda lisa
en la noche.
Sing the white sand,
salt broken on the beach,
heart of the dolphin
skimming her sleek wave
in the night.
Sleep child,
ride the island.
Dolphin holds you
in her fin. This water
is your home.
Sing the bones,
the broken husk.
Coconuts speak in tongues,
spilling milk to the sea.
Cante los huesos,
la cáscara quebrada.
Cocos hablan en le voz del Dios,
derramar la leche al mar.

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Notes: Cante la arena blanca, sal rota sobre la playa, corazón del delfín montando su onda lisa en la noche: Sing the white sand, salt broken on the beach, heart of the dolphin mounting its smooth wave at night.  Cante los huesos, la cáscara quebrada. Cocos hablan en le voz del Dios, derramar la leche al mar:  Sing the bones, the broken rind. Coconuts speak in the voice of the God, spill milk to the sea.
 

Song Four:  Flamingo

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Audubon set his sights. Startled, the pink wing
broke open, stroked air across the water to Cuba,
legs tucked, sand lance flickering in curved beak,
mosca, lejos, lejos!
Audubon packed his pots, guns, brush
and wire, left for home without his prize.
A doctor brought the bird down,
packed it in rum, sent it by train
to Charleston where Audubon dried its tender
feathers with a tea towel, painted the great
bird — neck coiled, head in the reeds.


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Notes: mosca, lejos, lejos: fly away, away.

 

Song Five:  Angela Street

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At Angela Street and Passover Lane
cemetery saints and the Virgin tilt
in limestone beds. Roosters peck
amid night-blooming jasmine.
I drink coconut milk by a stone carved
José Alvarez, Beloved Son, 1853,
the year yellow fever swallowed
the island’s coral heart. A bicycle is propped
against a palm tree, the soil rich with toys,
beads, shoes, bones flung up by hurricanes.
I eat casabe bread and rice from the Cuban
market on Grinnell Street.
I wait with the Garcías, the de Leons, the Vegas.
I wait on Solares Hill for a cooling breeze.
I wait to see if the bicycle has a rider.

© Rebecca Loudon and Roupen Shakarian, All Rights Reserved