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...