Islander

 

I'm a little edgy

– you may say not easy –

when everything's changing

so furiously.

I'm going down

slow and sadly,

looking out over the river

to the darker side.

Mud here, mud there

where the bad guys live

and I must be a child

just one more time.

 

Born an Islander

I'm water-branded

imprisoned by the chaos

of relentless seas;

a way to breathe,

suck in gales for oxygen

while infections cripple

with the poisons of power

that the oceans spat

to hush the troubled

with bribes and whips,

that slipped and stung:

the choice was mine.

 

Oh, Islands are for joy

and the raptures of their islanders

despite Donne's adventurers.

Refuge and bounty

of swaddling and liberation

are the treasures of its people,

bound by boundless living,

here,

in Cornucopia Australis,

Great Southern Land,

the finest of all.

 

Chris Hubbard

2020