4 Poems by Lorraine Caputo

HUSHED DREAMS

<

A dry season rain

patters across the tin eaves,

it drips down into

the patio after the

clouds relent. The wind ever-

lasting rustles palm

fronds, rattles the roof, hushing

hopes of this night’s dreams.

>

CARIBBEAN NOCTURNE

>

Waxing moon freshly

arisen, luminescent

above the jungle

silhouetted against the

star-strewn ebony heaven

>

Within this blackness

geckos cluckle & crickets

silver the evening.

Below, the Caribbean Sea

murmurs with its waning tide.

>

ON A FULL MOON NIGHT

>

I.

>

On the past-midnight plaza below

a group of youth play

guitar & sax, their voices

echoing down narrow streets

>

II.

>

After 1 a.m., a red-hooded

young man shrilly whistles

across the plaza, sits next to a

trash can, rifling its contents

>

& at the approach

of a police pick-up, he hastily

weaves down a side street, shrilly

whistling, throwing a plastic bottle

>

at a five-star hotel’s stained glass

window, shrilly whistling, ponding

on a random door, shrilly whistling,

disappearing down a dark alley

>

III.

>

After 2 a.m., from the open window below mine,

a young woman leans out, singing

along to music muffled

by thin headphones

>

PASTORS

>

Along a bank of

the rain-swelled Utcubamba,

a boy blue leads ten

white sheep, a sole ebon lamb

>

Mother in muddy

mourning follows, a heavy

bundle over one

shoulder

& his sister, a

lamb wrapped in a red

mantle across her thin back.

>

A stone bridge they cross,

the waters of that river

flowing swift below,

tumbling against the low arch.

>

& up along the

other bank, disappearing

in the rains that now

again wetten this late day.