Aug 3, Midnight, The Courtyard
I'm standing in the courtyard with Fabricana.
It is dark, except for the moon. Mercedes
is sitting under the mango tree, watching Fabricana
pull apart a small package. Suddenly Fabricana becomes
agitated, says to Mercedes: LuLu, don't buy me
anymore of these dresses. There is an odd silence,
as if a large, strange dog had suddenly
bolted out of the house. Fabricana shrugs it off,
says to me, My mother keeps buying me
these dresses I don't like, holding up
a bougainvillea-patterned skirt as evidence.
I feel an empty balloon forming over my head.
She puts the skirt down, says to me, What do you think?
The balloon above my head starts filling up with question marks.
She says to me: Not the skirt, the trees, what do you think?
I look around: the four huge coconut palms
that bordered the pool are missing.
She walks me around the chain-sawed stumps.
What do you think? she says again.
I can feel Mercedes watching us
from beneath the shadowy mango tree.
I keep thinking the two of them should have been
father and son: in an earlier time, they'd have carried guns,
conspired against presidents. Fabricana kicks
one of the stumps, says to me, I cut them down yesterday,
they were dropping fronds, there were fronds all around everywhere, but now there will be no more coconuts. I think I did too much.
What do you think? I tell her it's not that bad,