Childhood was like a coconut; I sailed on
for many years
Waves daunted with untendered words
Everything shaking, shattering into shambles
afraid to land, settle my roots, expand
my leaves

Buoyant and free-floating, I suppose it is fortunate
That you happened to like coconuts and
take me under your shade
The natives call coconuts the “tree of
life” but
I am not sure what to make of it because
I am nothing without you, my shell
cracked and bruised
Coir fibers at the husk splintered and broken
The damage greater inside, coconut milk turning bitter and sour
I suppose you can be considered the
gardener
Touching lives with your green thumb, nurturing

Childhood was like a coconut; I sailed on
for many years
Tides hugging the shore, words with
a place to fall
Months wash into years and words
Pulse, press, pucker at the fringes of my lips
Ink splattering along “My Memoirs”
The aroma of coconuts lingers in the air