Island Hopping


Three specks of mossy green behind her,
she wonders, both legs dangling off
the edge of the running motorboat,
What would happen if islands
could have memories like humans do?

Would the first island remember
the way its seaweeds twice her arm length
tickled her cheeks and ears
as she dove in deeper to get closer
to a school of grey fish each the size of her fist?

Would the second island remember
her palms delving through the coarse earth
for sand dollars of various colors—
from ivory to graphite-grey—
that she planned to take to the city?

Would the third island remember
the shifting of her legs
and the wiggling of her toes
as she buried them under the white sand
almost as fine as baby powder?

Yet if islands were to have memories
like humans do, they would have forgotten her
from the moment she last stepped on them,
and they would have created new ones
from the arrival of another motorboat.

With the chill of the wind caressing her face,
her hand tight against a metal railing,
she feels the weight of the waves against her feet
as she dips them into the seawater
carrying them back to the city lights. F DIANNE ALYSSA A. AGUIRRE

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