The Island

On the perfect flat-line of calm, a blip appears:
White sails cresting the horizon signal the beginning of new life
Magick’d out of the fecund ocean and currents
The blip gets bigger, coming nearer to paradise

The white men arrive from Europe –
The Dutch, the Spanish, the English
In their holds they carry the gifts of civilisation:
Measles, influenza, syphilis… god

The natives welcome them with fruit and feathers
—when you’ve only known paradise, it is hard not to share—
But the white men come as the hurricane
Knowing only how to offer destruction.

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