Caribbean Lover

The wind here is like a lover’s moist breath. You hear it rustling the leaves of turpentine, genip and flamboyant as it closes in, long before it leaks down over the east flank of Bordeaux and sends the tyer palm fronds clacking in an ecstasy of motion. They sway and bob, pendulums in the breath of the earth. This sultry breath caresses your exposed parts, seduces the frigid flesh, causing you to cast off your hoodie fleece, step out of your long pants and open stiff limbs to its embrace.

Looking northeast from Ram Head, St John, USVIEverything you knew you had to do, every promise you have made to yourself and others dissolves in the face of this seductress. You fail in your commitments. The wood goes unsplit, the trees untapped. Stovepipes ooze with creosote. The cat, trapped outside with the garage door open a crack, fends off raccoons. A dog whimpers and paces in the friendly neighborhood kennel. Mail piles up unopened, no phone calls are returned. Your car becomes a habitat for white footed mice, which shred the registration and insurance papers carelessly left unprotected in the glove box.

If you are not cautious, you will contract a terminal disease here in the Caribbean. It will ravage your will and cause your skin to shrivel prematurely. You will become careless with hard earned income, dream of timelessness and become a schemer, really believe you can live on a boat.

If you are unprepared for this satyr of the middle latitudes, its hot breath will pin you to the sand, have its way with you and move on, like all serious lovers do, the the next innocent set of open arms.

© 2012 Jennifer Pierce

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