Summer Edward


After a sudden rain, dew drunkens trees like rum;

now the blotched air, the pirouettes of dust.

The offended rooster roils his body, stands

still to observe the watery ingress of sun

in the green yard, the freshening Calendula

flowers fall from their damp siege.

Down in his private valley, the leviathan Saman

resets his ancient clockwork.

A Golden Tegu lizard shines in the stung grass,

like a prized walking cane. Quietly,

the Flamboyant adjusts her red wig,

giant bromeliads like hair pins.

In this first silence, electric wires buzz― the world’s

plastic memory of the sky-born sea.

Unrepentant sky. The proud Caimete shivers

at each fresh monsoon of your wrath,

even the Immortelle, that demigoddess,

extends her arms in supplication.

Now, as you make your toilette, powder puff clouds

shake off talcum-white light.

The day, the earth of stunned worshippers,

bathes in your glow.

The poem above originally appeared in The Caribbean Writer, volume 26, published in 2012 by the University of the Virgin Islands, and edited by Crucian author and educator Alscess Lewis-Brown. This work is the intellectual property of the author. All rights reserved.

Summer Edward, M.Ed. grew up as a third culture kid in Trinidad and the USA. An alumna of the University of Pennsylvania, her work appears or is forthcoming in The Millions, Nat. Brut, Bim: Arts for the 21st Century, The Missing Slate, Horn Book Magazine, Kweli Journal, Matatu: Journal for African Culture and Society, The Ekphrastic Review, Moko Magazine, sx salon, The Columbia Review, The Caribbean Writer, Obsidian: Literature in the African Diaspora, Duende, Negative Capability Press, Waxwing Literary Journal, Re-Markings and others. She is a Small Axe Literary Prize shortlistee, a Pushcart Prize nominee, and was selected for the NGC Bocas Lit Fest’s New Talent Showcase. Visit for more information.

nature poetry
Summer Edward
Summer Edward
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