digital art: ralph murre
WOMAN ON
THE ROCKS
by
John L. Campbell
A
cool Caribbean breeze sweeps white sand across
the veranda
at
a villa overlooking the rugged rocks bordering the Atlantic .
On
my left, a purple profile of Puerto Rico
cowers under clouds,
and
north, the tiny island
of Culebra
From
my perch on the isle of Vieques I sip hot coffee and watch
a
woman fish from a rock the size and shape of Moby Dick.
She's
lean, muscular and wiry like a sprinter, a soccer player,
a
tall, willowy Olympian in short-shorts, long legs and naked feet.
A
tattoo of a purple-blue dragon peeks from her undershirt,
white
against her tan skin shimmering as she twirls
a
fishing line like a lasso glistening in the sun, a cowgirl,
arms
akimbo, trying to cut the lead stallion from the herd.
She
tosses the line and it sails up and out like a snake in flight,
the
weight, then the bait, kiss the turquoise surf and sink deep.
She
taps a cigarette from a pack, cups her hand and lights up
with
the skill of a seaman on deck with the wind in her face.
Her
smoke drifts upward, I inhale her breath, its tobacco aroma.
Who
are you woman, where do you live, with whom do you sleep?
Perhaps
we could meet between cinco y siete
behind the stacks
in
the library, or in a booth behind palms at Fat Jack’s Café?
Motionless,
she watches the water, a bucket her only companion.
I
want to climb down to those rocks, ask what she's using for bait,
ask
what fish she’s caught, would she welcome a man's company?
~
first published in Free Verse
