Face the lazy lagoon,
The roaring reef, the horizon stretched taut.
A boat out there. What has it caught?
Fishing in the past, present or future.
Now turn halfway round.
Feet itchy in sharp coral sand.
A road, a bus labelled ‘Clockwise.”
Raise your arms above your head.
Look up at thick green peak with misty tips.
Sway your hips.
Do this dance anywhere on Rarotonga.
Always the same view. The island is a circle,
A coconut plop into the ocean,
The world’s iris looking up at other lonely islands,
The glittering stars that guide.
The dance isn’t over yet. Be still.
You may hear the ancient and future sounds
Of the slow breathing ocean and the gargle of islands
Rising and falling. Rising and falling.
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Janice Marriott's Year in Poetry 