THE PASTORAL YIELDING TO HISTORY

Sometimes the eye sees what the mind mistrusts.

Sometimes there is a green too green for belief:

sun rising over these mountains

illuminates fields unruffled by wind,

thatched hut around which foliage has grown up—

banana trees, coconut palms, and breadfruit,

broad leaves resembling hands

with fingers outstretched.

On the horizon, a man

leads a donkey across a narrow bridge.

Flanking either side of the animal, crocus bags

brim with bananas yet to ripen.

The donkey hauls freshly cut sugar cane

stacked on its back.

A cutlass dangles from the man’s fingertips.

The sun is a disk boring a hole into the sky.