Miles up the crumbling asphalt
I smell the mangroved mud perfume
whispering of mullet, crabs and shrimp
and fish – lord, the fish!
Agile snapper, snook and reds;
Cat- and ladyfish galore.
My fingers tighten on remembered reels.

The boat trip to the Island
wets my face with saline spray.
It dries in the scents of sea grape and palm,
floating in atop a zest of salt
from ever-restless surf shouting
over and over “I am here!”
So am I.
Never so much elsewhere.

2022