Christine Craig
A writer through and through, Christine is a poet, and university professor and published author
Dibby, dabby clouds puff along silky sky
over the sea to tomorrow and forever.
Wee fat legs go wayward for a plastic pail
fleeing Mami’s coconut oily ministrations.
Ma Donna and child tucked into a little shell of
quiet love on the crowded beach.
The teens winging it, knees bending on slender skateboards
up the pavement, dodging the gawkers, the starlets,
our sweet youth swift with somewhere to go
straightening, bodies stretched up
twist and shout, all lithe and lovely,
so confident, so ready to swoop and swan it,
laughing in belly baring shorts and mini-kini top.
My heart bird-wings up and out in the sharp, bright light
stillness, motion – caramel colors of sun-dark skin
yellow pail at dimpled toes – shapes and colors
circling under the watchful palms – in MyYami.
Ohbladee, ohbladaa, life goes on…
Just not for Zelda Zimmerman, two blocks over
in her flocked wallpaper room with the flying Chagall print
leaning in to close her eyes while Mae opens the window
to set her soul free and sings If I had the wings of a dove,
her sweet Jamaican voice tripping over the sill
out to the sandy beach where no one hears
only the sea carrying past and future
in an endless wave.