The Doves Seem to Croon Tippy Canoe Tippy Canoe

—Baracoa and Boca de la Miel, Cuba

1
 
Rain falls overnight
cleansing heat and dust of day
susurrus song on the pillow.
 
Travelling news greets morning
     airlines suspending flights
     a case of coronavirus at home
     factories and daycares closed
     the mantra of self-isolation repeated
                                                                 and repeated
while the sun rises above Baracoa
                                                        island town
of ocean waves and mountain breezes.
 
You feel a bit like Robinson Crusoe.
 

2
 
Woodcut visions of medieval plague
     bodies stacked and dangling from carts
     emaciated people leaning from balconies
cross your mind before you quickly wipe
them aside.

3
 
Walk miles of ocean shore
to lounge upon a sheltered beach.
Eat uva caleta     grapelike berries
from the tree of Columbus’ cross.
Crack almond shells with a stone.
 
At the small fishing village of Boca de la Miel
listen to riffs of Spanish voices
drift across Made’s verandah
     devour fried platano
     sip ice-cold cerveza
walk home to your casa on Calle Maceo
close to the malecón.

4
 
From your small balcony     roof-top high
you listen to doves cooing in their dovecot
tippy canoe     tippy canoe
a rooster crowing.
                               You wonder
if you’ve slipped into Alice’s rabbit hole.
 
Night’s rain has emptied clouds.
The sullen sky has changed to blue.
 
Time flattens like a Dali watch.
The doves sing their haunting song.