Nancy Anne Miller
The pink striped twirl, a merry go
round post, we have ridden
in circles for ages, like the up
down movement of waves, as
we floated above a semitropical
glassy sea floor. Impervious to
the sun’s gold ring we reached
for in holiday days. Like the suck
of a waterspout over South Shore
comes in close, disturbs. Overheated,
we have sipped away the ocean,
in gulps, almost swallowed it whole.
My Bermudian cousin says
make sure the windows have
locks as if they keep the outside
view of hibiscus, frangipani secure.
I press the rental cottage’s digital code
to let myself in, feel I have
become a member of a secret society.
On Front Street in Hamilton, I hold
my leather tote bag close like a shield,
remove gold jewelry before going out,
a habit I practiced as a child whenever
I swam, so as not to attract Barracuda.
Become sensitive to dangers in my tropical
surroundings as Cephalopods
receive light waves through
turquoise waters in Harrington Sound.
I’ve come here to Paget to write,
pull down shades if at night, hide
the computer’s glow in case of intruders,
like precautions used in a WWII Black Out.
When my mother read mail at the
British Navy Quarters. Deciphered
hidden code by what was left out,
much like island tourist propaganda.
Nancy Anne Miller is a Bermudian poet with seven collections. Boiling Hot (Kelsay Books 2018) is her latest. She is published in journals such as Edinburgh Review, Poetry Ireland Review, Salzburg Review, Agenda, Stand, The Fiddlehead, The Caribbean Writer. She is a MacDowell Fellow and Bermuda Arts Council Grant recipient.