by Marlon Roudette

So, what’s it like to be an absentee Vincentian?

To carry your island with you and breath in deep with every mention?

In a far flung hotel somewhere when sleep’s a voice you start to argue with,

You picture Lower Bay behind the salty screen of your closed eyelids.

When, despite a thousand flights between the world’s great city skylines,

The only one you dream about goes

From La Soufrière to Union Island.

A thousand Prayers said in Churches with bells so high they over reach,

But every white Cross just brings you back to a rock on Villa beach.

So, what’s it really like to be an absentee Vincentian?

Attending a Pageant of natural beauty when only one holds your attention.