Paradise Island
In a ravenous half-clothed state
I jumped my Caribbean patio gate
pursuing a coconut down the road
squishing lizards dodging toads;
apologizing to the plant,
I scaled its shingled trunk—
it was me against the fruit.
Tearing and pulling in the night
it finally shook loose
and with reptilian speed I scurried
to my chamber's outdoor court
one leg then the next I landed:
right foot in the butter, left one in the cup
(damn that luncheon tray).
Now to crack the furry nut.
3 a.m: I sent that fruit flying
against the Turkish tiled porch,
but as I watched my meal
bouncing back and forth,
it’d only lost a hair or two,
otherwise completely there intact.
Once more I waged war
throwing full force against the floor
and just like Humpty-Dumpty
it cracked in several pieces.
About to feast on juice and meat
no knife or fork could be found –
so from the closet I retrieved a hanger
and, freeing it of its twisted shape,
cross-legged upon my bed – I ate.
Madeleine Beckman is a poet, fiction, and nonfiction writer. She is nonfiction Editor for IthacaLit, a literary journal, and a contributing reviewer to the Bellevue Literary Review. Her work has been published in books, journals, anthologies, and online. She is the recipient of awards and grants, from among other places, the Poetry Society of America, the New York Foundation for the Arts, and the Irish Arts Council of Ireland. Her poetry collection, Dead Boyfriends, was recently reissued by Limoges Press, Madeleine teaches in the Medicine & Humanism Program/NYU Medical School and privately.