Ode to a Town Lucea, estranged lover of mine, come back to my heart and stay. Let me inhale those pink fuschia puffs, hurry to curry the goat and not forget to lock the gate, once again. Lucea, a woman with soft palms, fronds fraying in the wind…red, green, and gold on brown baby bodies. The land they love is Jamaica, where cowboys wrangle their trucks down the road like doctor birds on speed—like American wannabes— and all the old women can think is Lawd have mehcy. Jamaica is the West—fresh-packed produce ripe for tourists. Lucea, though, lives west and does not become it. Slow down, mahn, as the Rastas say and Lucea, smart one, she obeys.

Last updated: March 27th, 2000
All original material and text is Copyrighted ©1997-2000 to me, Corinthia Maira Bimaris, including the name WinterVeil! All rights reserved.

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