Tropical Malady

The wickedness she sees, pulsating
inwards, travels with her to the most
peaceful shores; those coating ocean
waves and brown island smiles cannot
release her from the knowing, from the
thing that waits for colder coasts. The
Jamaican sun, white as it is with heat,
cannot fry out and burn to dust the
multiplying growth that feeds in any
climate.


Mosquitos

The zancudos bite her toes, her hair.
She takes it, unwilling to shake off
All the other things wrong with her.