Midsummer, Tobago
Derek Walcott
Broad sun-stoned beaches.
White heat.
A green river.
A bridge, scorched yellow palms
from the summer-sleeping house
drowsing through August.
Days I have held,
days I have lost,
days that outgrow, like daughters,
my harbouring arms.
Midnight, Georgia
Small one-room apartment.
Green walls.
A brown dog.
A cat,
stained ecru carpet
from the moving-in party
soaking in time.
Sensations I have felt,
sensations I have screamed,
sensations that flee, like blood,
my contracting heart.
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