From Eleutheran Adventure

Hidden Worlds

I used to look at clouds,
Imagine a world peopled by spirits,
Believed if I could just slip in through this opening or that,
I'd be rewarded by a glimpse of a pastel heaven.

I still like skies
But adulthood and air travel
Have demystified the heavens.
Pity.

Today I sometimes catch a glimmer
Of that long ago child
Who imagined whole worlds of possibility
In a hint of an opening.

These arcane worlds
Are quite unlike the heaven of my childish imagination.
Now I open doors into hidden human life,
And gasp with pleasure.

First a inkling of something more,
Then as the details are revealed,
Little orgasmic explosions of pure ecstasy ...
One after another.

In Damascus, in the walled city, I passed through a portal into a courtyard.
Doorways opened in every direction.
Stairways led up to still more entries.
A whole extended family
Lived around the fountain in which a watermelon cooled.

In France once, walking down a narrow dark cobbled alley,
I peeked into an open doorway,
And discovered a world of sunshine, potted plants and laundry,
Of children and chattering women.

In Eleuthera the streets seem to be straight,
Their intersections, perpendicular.
Shops and houses with yards line the routes.
Everything looks very ordinary.

But beside Pammy's dark blue restaurant in Governor's Harbour
In between Pammy's and the house next door,
The one with the faded, flaking aqua paint,
A narrow entrance to an alley beckons.

I'm always seduced by the music,
Pulled into a world of dogs and kids,
And women shelling pigeon peas in doorways,
Leading their hidden lives behind Pammy's restaurant.

Just the other day, in James Cistern,
I discovered, quite by accident,
That whole neighbourhoods exist behind the houses
Facing the Queen's Highway, looking out toward the sea.

A sign advertised a new restaurant, Alphemia's.
I walked my bike up to the big green empty-looking house.
A delivery van stopped.
Told me the restaurant was behind the green house.

I continued further in.
Found a house with a gate across the verandah opening.
Opened the gate.
The house looked deserted, cool and dim.

An old woman leaning on a crutch hobbled to the fence.
"Knock on the door," she cried.
I knocked timidly.

Blanche, the fruit seller on the Queen's Highway,
Joined the old lady.
"Knock harder!" she yelled in her hoarse voice.
I knocked again, louder this time.

A solemn little boy wearing a school uniform arrived.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Darius Pinder, ma'am," he replied.
I shook his hand and asked, "Is your mama cooking?"
"Yes ma'am," he replied. "Come on through."


He led me through the tidy house with antimacassars on the chairs
Out through the back door where half a dozen school children sat eating pizza.
They giggled when he pointed me toward the tiny restaurant.

Afterwards, back out on the Queen's Highway,
My back to the Caribbean,
I took one last look
At the world I'd discovered.

It was as if the door had been closed tight.
Only the green house faced me.
Not a single sign that behind it, living their lives, were
A lame old lady, Blanche, Alphemia, and giggling children.