musée mia burrus

barbados

 
 
 we are lorelei, draped on coral rocks
 with wet tresses. the rocks are sharp
 with the bones of the long dead,
 but the sailors are drunk and move off
 to waters that couldn’t be bluer.
 we too push off, away
 from the tchotchke vendors
 high on the hill, trying to lure us
 into ruin, with coconut bird-feeders,
 sea-shell what-nots,
 hand carved monkeys.
 we are unchained, but just unchained,
 from the ruins among the poison trees.
  
 2009