winter has come
to our cottage by the sea

the sun sets early
the moon rises pale and cold

and all around
the cane fields char

wafting ash and the stink
of burned molasses into the sky

the night is heavy with sweet offense
and we wake from dreams of nothing

filled with the longing for sugar



You come to the house at 3 a.m. in the cold.

Your mother greets you at the door with no words,
only pebbles in her mouth.

You walk along the dim hallway
to a small room flooded with light.

It contains twin beds, a dusty mirror, 
fading prints, dark wood.

It contains the end of the world.

There is a ringing in your ears
as you kiss your father for the last time.