the beach at sunrise
raises its skirts
like a drunken pigeon
i raise my eyes awake
behind armored gates
somewhere deep in frederiksted
inside dark rooms
that shroud my skin
in the colors
of an evening gone bad
bluest black
rinsed indigo
uncensored red
dark nameless woman
washed ashore
skin seared
like an eclipse
out of season
warm water
nips under my
breast
seeps into my skin
and the ocean whispers
stay close
stay close
i strut red feathers like a pagan god
open my house boldly
invite sun and waves to crush my wings
rape this serenity
bluest black
rinsed indigo
uncensored red
i surrender
to the messages in the sky
on the waves
i eat my own blood
reach quietly inside the water
gather all of me
alongside myself
and the ocean whispers
stay close
stay close
an earlier version
of sunrise
teases the curtains
teases the whiteness of sheets
that gather around my ankles
that remind my feet to breathe
an earlier version
of sunrise
sits cross-legged
holds thunder
captive under skirts
that deny
full moons
that deny
seasons of fire
thy deny
births and names
st croix mornings
gaze back at me
through the eyes
of my daughter
remind me
of other madnesses
other unnamed seeds
the madness of the sky
the madness of a woman
who refuses to
stay close
stay close
From Breath of the Song: New and Selected Poems (Carolina Wren Press, 2005). Copyright © 2005 by Jaki Shelton Green. Used with the permission of the poet.