Brian Walter
From the mangrove swamp
with its rich and static waters,
dark and brown-black blue,
the path snakes through the margin zone
of those worldly yellow hibiscus trees
and quickly out to the clear lap of ocean.
Beyond – across the broad bay sweep –
is the opaque blue mountain
of the bigger island. Volcanic,
silent and softly grand, the great
sulphur gate, hunching its strength,
and waiting…
But here, just in from the sea
– just a lazy stone-toss length –
is a small building, dirty white
and cracked, seeming to be
an unkempt restroom, crouched
with that windowless threat:
and I skirt it, circumspect,
turn to find it is a simple shrine,
light blue walls inside, a ceiling black
with holy candle soot; floor and shelf busy
with icons, crucifixes and fresh flowers.
In this world of such wear and tear,
I find myself in a glade with flitting
hummingbirds and bird song,
where, just steps from our uncertain sea,
a small shrine has candles burning
for Mary, Notre Dame de la Mer.
Allegories of the Everyday, Dryad Press, Cape Town, 2019
Featured on 30 September 2021
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