Cocal
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Behold the shout of “SEA!” where ends the land
down Manzanilla way on windward shore -
on coconut road, on ribbons of sand
where soon enough we’d be at Bovell’s door.
Upon wet beachcomber footprint I stood,
coco lillies and beach flowers I’ve smelled,
and miles of castaway island driftwood
oft my mother’s full and cradled arms held.
In seine nets from Cocal to Mayaro
villagers reel mackerel, kingfish, shark,
and dig for chip-chip and watch fireflies glow
as bright the pitch-oil lamps burn after dark.
Like the leatherbacks, I too will return
before this mortal lamp does cease to burn.
Written: January 1995
Copyright © Keith D Trestrail | Year Posted 2022
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