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No, Lavender

The light is luscious now, at dusk.

Lilac – no, lavender,

rendering everything it touches

flawless.

 

Even the scrubby uninviting island offshore

looks seductive just about now each day,

its parched terrain and jagged lava rock

softening for a moment,

airbrushed, sleek,

beckoning,

under the forgiving light.

 

And there’s the lure of this place

that lies hard by the sea —

hurricane-ravaged these days, staggering to its feet,

yet still with the power to transport,

to transform.

 

We arrive world-weary, jaded,

resigned,

offer ourselves up,

then wait,

as it returns us —

inexorably —

to our best selves:

At least for a time.

 

Double Bay, Eleuthera

 

November,2004.

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Writer and Poet

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Tricia McCallum

Always be a poet. Even in prose.
Charles Baudelaire.

In essence I am a storyteller who writes poems. Put simply, I write the poems I want to read.[…]

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