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Vacation Journal
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Isla Mujeres in August - Part II

By: giniconroy (View Profile)
Date: 5/2/2005

It is late when we take the pitcher from our room down the dimly-lit corridor, past shoes sitting before silent, closed doors, to fill with water from the five-gallon jug that stands in the stairwell. The hotel is hushed, falling into sleep, the only sounds are from the sea-wind rustling the palms and, from far away, the hot pulse of Salsa music bleeding into the night. As we stand filling the pitcher—I remember we can get up to the roof.

Come with me, I say—
taking his hand
and leaving the pitcher
on the water cooler.

My bare feet are silent
followed by the soft slap
of his sandals
on the treads of the stairs
as we climb two flights
to the roof.

Up here
where no one lives
and no one comes
the bare flat concrete rectangle
that is the roof
seems so forbidden
I am breathless and giddy.

We walk to the parapet
and peer down
upon the magic
that is the tops of palms
and soft winking jewels
that are lights from the hotel grounds
and shops far down the street.

Stark bare skeletal forms
looming next to our roof
are the rooftops of buildings
we've only seen
from below.

And out to the west,
so vast it seems close,
we behold all of la bahia de Isla:
the body of water
we crossed on the ferry
when we came to the Island.

we must leave here,
my Isla,
and—oh Robert, I say against his shoulder—
how many more times will I come back?

The sea is truly black now—
darker than the sky
where a gibbous moon
sails high
riding the wake of bright Venus.

Wispy clouds
among the stars
blow toward the mainland
on the far side of the water.
Isla Mujeres, Mexico
15 August 2004

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