This poem was published in ‘The Black Mountain Review’ Issue 7 in 2003. Sadly, the magazine folded a few years back.




Five thirty in the morning.

An electric fan cools the air

as I lie

& watch you sleep.


Your skin, so dark next to mine,

shines like liquorice

in this half-light.


Shutters closed

against the Caribbean dawn,

a mosquito net distances you

from your baby boy — orphaned

from his bed — asleep

on the couch

with your sister.


I am an interloper

in this house by the sea.

I can leave anytime,


& I will.

But while this morning

lasts, I will

lie & watch you sleep

& breathe the sweet smell of you

until you wake.




Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s