I Wake to You

I wrote this poem twenty-three years ago, right after I wrote the consulate detailing the bad behavior of the ticket-taker.

I Wake to You

Five days later,

I still wake to you in Greece

To gritty unblended coffee

wafts of Carroten sun lotion,

swallows chittering and wheeling

outside our window

To slants of light

your back,

tinted papaya,

lengthened beside me

I insist on private coves,

diesel bus rides

and interminable hikes

Your straw hat barely shields the sun

as I interrogate locals,

Where is the beach without clothes?

I wake to shopkeepers stirring the shadows,

to church bells and wood smoke,

megaphones broadcasting

onions and plastic chairs

We feast on color

explosions of bougainvillea

deep purple, soft pink

coral necklaces and raspberry facades

mustard doors hung with garlic

terracotta roof tiles

laid out like loaves of bread

the endless parade of blue

We stockpile mementoes

octopus platters, rooster plates

silver dove earrings

Leftheris’s Pigeons of Peace

Shop after shop

we're held hostage by Greek hospitality

hard-back chairs

banter and moonshine

always culminating in our debt to the ancients 

I wake to midnight perambulations

tables dragged across marble

paper cloths clipped into place

We traipse over cobblestones

me, in search of romantic ambience

Later I realize you are wearing heels

We linger in bombed-out mansions

masquerading as restaurants,

seaside tavernas and repurposed bathhouses

Wedged under a tamarind tree,

smitten with my good fortune,

I barely notice the moon

brimming behind you

or Flora the parrot strutting around

like she owns the place

I wake on the deck of a ferry,

folded like a Greek Sigma

What island is this today?

Something Asiatic and fresh, antique in memory

These seas don’t run out of possibilities

ferry dashes across the map

islands glittering like stones