After a painting by Barbara Rogers
I stand in the jungle,
dressed in white,
my turban tied.
I’ve been here for years
in my jewels,
wearing the same
red smile,
always ready
for something rare,
footsteps
bringing a crystal bell
or stained-glass ladder
through ferns
and rubber trees,
the rush of breathing.
A flamingo lifts
its wings
but does not fly;
leaves turn silver.
Night
brings dreams
shifting like sand,
the moon’s whisper.
Somewhere near
there is always the toll
of the sea,
there is always the
taste of ash on my lips,
the wait.
— Lucille Lang Day
From Fire in the Garden,
first published in Transfer