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Columbus

They must have thought it was a mirage
at first, Paradise or Eden, a conjuration
of will, of want, the blue calm
perfect water, the white, white, sand.

By then, they'd thrown over their maps
and tools, their faces gone papery,
warlike, parched salty lips
ready to bite the new world whole.

They'd buried hope and pity at sea,
With broken cups, the fine cracked china,
unmanned civility like a knife,
the clean edge of a blade their only memory.

By then, they craved soft brown arms,
new territory to conquer, brown eyes
like graves, the low whisper of skins
in darkness, their scent as unfamiliar

As the women sleeping across Europe
in their sagging beds, their paleness
like death itself, fallen into like slumber,
every night of their lives.

By then, they were lost,
their dirty claws always reaching for land,
pulling at the fall of black hair,
like reaching for a plate.

© Copyright, Kristy Bowen.
All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.