he wants me to bottle the ocean
fill a calabash
and pack it in a suitcase
fly liquid
3000 miles
to their dusty December
hills
so dry
they’re willing
to try
woo woo
juju
ancient sacred
ceremony
my father’s request
is minimal
it’s the drops that count
but I cannot measure
from my cliff side perch
what sloshes out
before me
in infinite
buckets of sea
Dad, if I could box it
send the whole ocean
to seep and soak the land
in one steady
even
stream
I would
I know
your living
depends on weather
(though this is true for us all)
here
on this island
‘wettest spot on earth’
showers sprinkle
as afterthoughts
off-handed gestures
that come
then go
so often
even locals
begin to complain
and wish for sunny weather
but this morning
I sidestep puddles
and remember
look out to
fluid fathoms
a horizon line
that’s met
with rains
far out at sea
falling from cotton clouds
stretched thin
billowing white chiffon
of drifting droplets
the rising sun
dances in prisms
a pillar of color
vertical to the sky
a rainbow
hologram of hues
waving in the winds
there are measureless multitudes
so many many
drops
pouring down
the spectrum
red to violet
a vibrant promise
to my prayer
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