The tangerine tree trembles, its white blossoms
Shake with uncertain shyness, young women
Frightened that they bloomed too soon.
When I arrived here, I thought,
I am concentrating on all the wrong things.
Meant to be writing a piece of analysis dry as dust.
The meat of olives.
Pungent as a memory that only the body can recall.
Cumquat juice slipping down swollen fingers.
How, there is no other word for alone.
A rippling purple iris caught in the lens of the sun.
Exhausted straw hats, terra cotta water jugs.
A fish made of bronze in a chalky fountain.
A painted quail.
Soft cats roll their clean fur in the baked dirt.
The photo of Joanna at the beach.
And tonight, the
‘Best Dessert This Side of the Mississipi’
After crawfish, red potatoes, a filet.
The blankets here are really shawls
To wear around your shoulders.
I have danced beneath my kaftan.
Listened to a song about smoke and ashes.
Collected more Durrell volumes.
Seen my father’s eyes
As Louis sang “What a Wonderful World”
And every time he did,
We raised our glasses.