Poems by Linda Fischer

IGUANAS

Riding east from Georgetown, hugging the left
side of the road the way drivers do here (shoulders
negligible where they exist at all) and us detouring
north to Rum Point so we can mingle with the throngs
of people disgorged by a cruise ship idling offshore,
even if it isn’t hot enough to snorkel, indulge in a spot
of sweetened Tortuga topped off with Häagen Dazs
on a stick (the sun not yet over the yardarm) and kick
around the beach before doubling back to Botanic Park,
one of the few island attractions that doesn’t smack
of the touristic traps strung along West Bay Road
where we usually hole up for the duration, and apart
from the “color garden” restored to its former panache
after a hurricane knocked the wind out of its sails,
and apart from making the mile-long trek to find it
and the parking lot, a sign strenuously enjoins us to
CHECK for sleeping iguanas under your wheels!!

Damn near worth the trip.

JUST NOW GOLD-SANDALED DAWN

—from a line by Sappho

Just now gold-sandaled Dawn
glides over the threshold of morning,
now the birds—imperious messengers—
proclaim her. I rise to a treble summons.
February at an end and witch hazel lit
with improbable wands of lemon,
budding snowdrops tight as fists.
Most frugal of seasons: fitful winds
abrade winter's skin, brittle as faith
fronting the world's grit. An oak,
stricken, breathes through sapless lungs—
too bitter to shape my notes to it.