Children playing:
the voices of poui
in the wind.
It’s night,
the kerosene lamp
is low on life.
Tongues of the ocean:
inside shells
are seas of poems.
The children are hushed—
petals of tears
on black thorns.
Immersed in books—
like a boat lying
still on solitude.
A duppy scares
away my wife—
me.
•••
Kemar Cummings lives in Jamaica where he is currently pursuing a Literatures in English degree at the University of the West Indies. He was first published in his high school magazine, where he was a literary prizewinner. Previous publications may be found in The Daily Gleaner, Bookends, The Campus Beat, and sx salon.
tongues of the ocean 