Blackbird ArchiveWelcome to Paradise
1
It’s glut & the throat
bloat again on this cut
glass morning—sailclouds
jab the wavetops
as we sludge sand
still brimming
from last night’s
buffet: skewered
jumbo shrimp-&-sausage,
fried oysters, fried snapper,
the special tuna inside
mango marmalade.
Because I said I’d try,
but didn’t, the lone tentacle
O-ing from the island
of my bread plate.
2
All hospitals are named for a saint.
As Ben and I sunned, his grandmother
—barely post-stroke—ate
by the tube in her gut,
bright flowers on the shelf
on her “good side.” “Gorgeous!”
the nurse in her native gold
tone spoke Caribbean hoops.
3
The brochure read, Welcome to Paradise!
Over dinner, we tried to find decision as the sea voiced-over
our voices
oily tiki torches illuminating
only us.
We found her
on the floor, who knew
how long she’d been there, her fist
a curling claw.
4
When I return from the shore, she reaches unexpectedly
for my hand.
Sweet, sweet.
Lauren, Lauren.
Good.
5
The soft-shelled crab’s shell is soft.
Evolution or greasy preparation?
Go ahead, soothe your belly
with some other armor—
devour an animal’s heart,
lick the plate clean.
mercury pool
soaking my precious
middle, me toxic
as the barnacled sponge.
Good, good.
7
St. Vincent is filled with skepticism.
His halo is a mechanical
scoop glowing metal
used just to dig the damn thing out.
As a rule, intact eyeballs
on roasted whole fish
are what saveurs spoon
first—
8
The distant palm trees shrivel.
We stop
before a 10ish boy who wants to show us
his capture: jellyfish
clumped in a yellow castle pail.
“Each one has three separate bodies,”
he brags, the visored heads
of his parents beaming behind him.
“Beautiful,” I go
9
The button to lift
her bed up
and see the whole arrangement
is marked with a peeling-down
sticker.
10
Afforded me . . .
—she starts, unstuck now
as the eye & the ocean
narrows & swells—
. . . You have afforded me great pleasure.
The room fills with silence,
with room for nothing else.
