Port Royal Jamaica
'In this place dwelt Horatio Nelson. You who tread his footprints, remember his glory.'
The sea, heavy with jellyfish, jointed With sharks, is completely present here. It would be impossible to go anywhere Except by water, or be nudged to glory.
Land persists, reefs under the skin of sea Ready like tomorrow's pox. White flagstones Where he walked do not heave or roll
But their steadiness is temporary, not the norm.
Under the guango trees he thought in terms Of oak, wood on water with a hollow heart Where men instead of sap moved and pushed. Ashore he had three mistresses who died.
Their crosses are nearby, hopeful like anchors. Up the road there is a church full of boys Who, innocent, experienced yellow fever, Swelled like sheep who have eaten clover.
Morgan's drinking vessel is there also, Purged now and used for Holy Communion. Henry Morgan, pray for us. Sea disinfects Even the pirate's gibbet and so does glory.
Sea is danger, but is a path out of death Too. It is easy to remember Nelson And tread his footprints, for whatever we do Because we do not wish to die, is glory.
PATRICIA BEER
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