NEXT TIME IN ISLA

if you sit quietly watching coconuts sleep on a sturdy roof of sticks, you might notice the simmering carribean sea in the distance

you might wonder what lies beyond the glistening smooth horizon

cuba

havana

an ice cream cone dripping on my tropical shirt decorated with lighthouses

where a laughing schoolgirl wearing a red bandana tied smartly around her neck lectured me in 1984 about how many languages she knew

asking if I spoke any of the tongues she commanded

I shook my head

no

spanish?

no.

italian?

no

german?

no

russian?

when we laughed she laughed loudest

forty years later my answer remains the same

no

i’m a coconut sleeping on the roof

no more

next time in isla

i’ll speak better spanish

next time in isla

i’ll order several fancy cocktails at the guru beach club bar instead of my sad, single margarita with lime and salt

next time in isla

my tongue will dance the jarana as I roll my r’s across the roof of my mouth  

i might even sing a love song

next time in isla