Islands were once come-hither dangers
Rearing high out of blue ocean. Beckoning.
An island was a prize, rewarding those who risked
The crashing waves, the reef, the rocks and rips.
The lost sailor looked up to them in wonder.
Now we look down on islands. We land in stiff planes,
Laden with soft toy turtles, snorkels, reef shoes.
We arrive at night and could be anywhere.
But after we leave the airport’s concrete and lights,
We look up to unexplored islands, stars so bright,
The same ones that pulled the first canoes
And guided the boatloads that followed.
The frangipani air is soft as talcum.
We hear a guitar and the music washes away
All thoughts of where we came from
Or when that was, if it ever was.