There-
The soft green-gray misting of a tropical backyard.
The cement floors, old construction, wooden, sheet metal tool hut and,
Rain… softly.
Pleasant cascade, a blanket of refreshment,
The place of home on the isle.
I walk out,
Flip-flops, small splashes,
No shirt, just shorts, warm-water-falling,
5-minutes shower, carribean typical.
The Sun, not hiding, not shy, just behind the foggy,
for a moment
The house behind me is tall, on stilts, we are on a mountain, surrounded by palm tree, vine, and
lush.
Steep incline, but vegetation abound, peaks in the distance,
The whiff of brown dirt, and fallen coconut,
Moistened palm branch, and rounded guanábana,
Cracked soda, indoor steam,
It’s family here.
Concrete, wood doors, metal bars on windows,
Rails, colored cement, cool tile floor, air conditioning, heat, but not dry, and
Soft couches, never silky, they don’t need to be smooth, they’re kind.
-Jorge Biaggi, ’23