Mangroves
Dusk, and the mangroves
of clouds, which sit low
into reverie; Chinese dragons
mating or big woman riding
chariot, clouds thicker than Whitman’s
beard (all angels have afros);
beneath them the hotels, giant casuarinas
in the half-dark, sawed off
and smoking. Now I must return
from the mangroves with proud
egrets, who know so much
more than me. We must
go back now to the shore
of this new night.
About this poem
This poem, representing the Bahamas, is part of The Written World – our collaboration with BBC radio to broadcast a poem from every single nation competing in London 2012.
