"You rock so, you rock so…
You come so, you come so…"
– Bob Marley, "Lively Up Yourself"
First time, before Sparrow's kaiso jams in the 70s,
Jagger's pelvic rocks in the 80s, the sexual
revolution spoke: near Hosororo: an Amerindian
maiden standing at water's edge, arms folded as if
waiting for traffic lights to change in a city of chrome rush, domes:
across the river a young man, thin blade sharp; from Georgetown
with its movies, bicycles, radio songs; fabled differences
now so near. Besides, not much to do: look after brothers
household chores, and mother grocery shopping in canoe;
saronged in tree leaves body urging, Come!
No ferry, paddle, choice but strip to briefs, go
test my diving chops – the river half a street block wide,
suppose I drowned! – arm over arm, runneling cross tide
and deep. Her calves & knees flashed, Hurry! not much time;
camoudi-like her mother from upriver might slip home.
And that was it: ashore, half naked; assurance, longings bared.
Sorry, no sweet man up details for you. Bet you're curious
how we did it in the hammock;
how I ignored forest muttering; stretched, released my new bowstring.
Alone I had to swim back to the first far side,
not the streaking eel this time, scared stranger again;
only laced shoes, clothes folded on the river bank
as evidence, had I not returned, I was there. For sure
as tiaras from heaven she'd never tell; she'd swear
she never saw that floating river swollen body before.
In cities of seasons, stony trails to gold, women have been inlets
streaming since, mate. Hand upon heart, I hail amazon waves.
-W.W.
A MOMENT
is a blank ice
rink waiting either to be
skated over or to melt.
Afraid of what these blades might
groove blind beyond erasure,
I remain at ice's edge
till you emerge like a deer
out of a forest of black
to startle me with the light
of your eyes and the caress
of the song of your silence,
promise of water somewhere
flowing and flowing and flowing.
(from "Gift of Screws" by Brian Chan)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 