Irma, Robin, my island girl
I think of you often
In that white hotel at the edge of the town
Where the low diesel ferry docked
Against the concrete ramp
Running deep into the loch.
Both of us foreign-born, vacationing over the seas,
Meeting as familiar strangers:
Exploring this island new to us both
Staring at the wind-twisted pines and the lone mute menhir;
Monuments to mother earth, the passage of seasons.
I still wonder at your sudden passions:
Drawing me close to taste my blood,
Saying “This chain is juju – you are bound to me forever.”
You left for home shortly after that night
Laughing at how the maid had been scandalized by
Our sharing a bed at midmorning.
Though I did not believe you then,
That chain is magic: your memory binds me to it
Even though the gold no longer lies
So warm against my blood.
It has grown cold,
And cannot conjure
That love you said would bind me here;
Only our island history, now a decade past.