Caribbean – a place where greening rain
lushes down on simple stoeped houses.
I’ve only been there on Walcott’s words
and through your letters from the island.
In Africa urban houses sprawl
cheek by jowl on the once wild land.
But blue sky and birds still sing
above these bared earth patches.
I stitched this into a quilt of cotton cloth
to warm the body and the eye.
I’m glad it crossed the seas with you,
and rests now in an island house.
A gap in the story
like a missing tooth
by the toothmouse.