let bygones be bygones

x marks the spot where the hatchet is buried-

once and for all

under the thatched roof hut

stash it flash it mash it up baby

as palms nod teasingly towards the sea

scrappy dogs roam free scampering ahead

or lagging behind as we stagger along-

their watchfulness a keen reminder

that there’s a bleating heart of darkness 

on this island

the sea is blue but gritty too washing up

seaweed and salt and coughed up blood

from a past where blood was bought or taken

or buried in the mangrove swamps

scrubby hills sugarcane

all those places where fire burns debris

surrounded by a gaping witness-

the mouth of sky asking

why do some have so little

while others have so much?

sullen sons silently wield machetes

in a slow skulk down a dusty road

long-legged daughters are silent too-

spiders sitting idle out front weathered shacks

painting glitter over bubblegum polish

rainbow curlers bobbing round their heads

occasionally stirring odd chicken parts

that simmer and brown on the stove all day

someone stuck a drying starfish

in the mossy palm-tree’s trunk

someone raked dried leaves from the sand

early morning shadows flickered cross-hatched

on the walls of the thatched roof hut

where the hatchet is buried

let bygones be bygones

stash it flash it mash it up baby

wild island dogs curl in sleep-

now and then opening a weary eye

just to make sure all is still safe

-----

Loretta Oleck is a poet and psychotherapist. Her poetry has been published in reviews/journals including The Westchester Review, Feminist Studies, The Mom Egg, Laughing Earth, Poetica Magazine, Still Point Arts Quarterly, Marco Polo Arts Magazine, among numerous others. More recently her work has been read at The Hudson Valley Center for Contemporary Art, as well as at other venues in and around New York. She holds a Masters degree in Creative Writing from New York University.