I still remember her. A head of curls.
Even then she had a secretive side.
She’d brightened up, smiling sweetly,
penitential. I’d heard a rumor–time
had passed–she’d gone off with a
much older guy, a white guy.
We had walked out to the beach,
where the mangroves were. There
she walked, and the next minute
she had sank, right to her knees.
So we’d pulled her out of the mud.
The rain began, quiet as water.
“Write a description poem. Pick someone or something to describe. Get in depth, or just brush along the surface.”