Ocho Rios
She draws with charcoal
on long sheets of oblivion (obsidian),
long-winged butterflies
above willowy grasses
blowing in the breeze.
Her hands move faster
than when they spin reeds into baskets
sold at the market for the lowest price
haggled for by sunburnt tourists.
When she turns her burnt face to the sun,
there is nothing but clouds,
ganja is thick in the air
from where the men sit carving elephants,
turtles, horses,
out of balsa wood.
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