When you’ve lived a while within the sound
of surf and mosquitos and swirls of children
between blindingly green ridges of jungle
emitting birds and bird sounds and moving
through the spectrums of saffron and shadow
and squall-closing grays, when the
news becomes who is pregnant by whom
and why who is leaving the island,
then come and talk to me about your
air-conditioned plans for the regulation of
whatever it is you’ve been brought here
to set straight by mainland standards.
We’ll set up a time line that will most
closely resemble a slowly drifting cloud.
About this poem
This poem, representing American Samoa, is part of The Written World – our collaboration with BBC radio to broadcast a poem from every single nation competing in London 2012.