POSTCARD FROM JAMAICA

Where mangroves sip pellucid water 
through their arching straws. 
Where prehistoric alligators 
bask with open jaws. 
Where sentinel bullrushes once 
sheltered fleeing slaves 
who now lie peacefully - 
forgotten in unmarked graves. 

Where teacup moons spill silver 
liquid on an inky sea. 
Where warm night winds bear 
sounds of ‘bamboo rain’ to me, 

Where pelicans fly low to fish 
and plovers search the sand 

I find contentment, peace and 
laughter in this blessed land.