Longing

It’s not that prison is so bad
which it is      but

if I alone were exiled
 to an uninhabited tropical island
laden with a colorful exotic variety of succulent fruit
and provided with sparkling fresh-water springs
and breath-taking waterfalls
and a safe cozy comfortably-furnished shelter
and a head-tossing spirited Arabian duo
     (a snow-white mare and a coal-black stallion)
and Nubian goats and Guinea chicks
and other sweet-tempered fauna and lush flora
and no reptiles or mosquitoes
and an always-charged cell phone
and internet access
and 10 billion dollars in my Swiss account

I would stiffly stand
on the hot white sand
steadily staring out
to where the Monet-smeared sky
melts into the break-dancing blue-green sea

longing for
embraces
from those
I love.


Patricia Prewitt
February 18, 2009