A Poem by Alan Catlin

Sugar Cane

 

Tall poles of sugar cane grew in parallel

lines as far as a child's eye could see.

We played hide and seek there, running

through the rows, our feet rustling dull

grey husks, kicking up the soft, dark

island dirt as we ran.  The cane fields

were our magic forests where we dwelled

without secret, imaginary friends despite

those tall, forbidding shadows mother

cast upon our dreams.  I was called Alano

then, was a mystery man from another world

listening to you call me:"Alan, come here,

come here this instant.  I told you never

to play with those children ever again.

You'll fall down.  You'll get hurt.

Alan are you listening?  Alan‑‑‑"

She could hear us rustling between rows,

could see our shadows as we danced into night,

where the sugar cane stood up like

pointed stakes and the rats came running

through the fields, baring their thin,

white teeth.

 

 

 

Alan Catlin two most vivid memories form his childhood involve a year spent on The Virgin Island of St Croix and growing up near, and going to, Coney Island amusement park. His latest his a full length memoir with poetry, “Books of the Dead”.