Grand
Turk
We
arrived this morning
at
Grand Turk,
a
little island about,
seven
by one and a half miles.
We
shopped for souvenirs,
waited
in line,
got
on a boat
where
a little black man
with
dreadlocks
and
a good sense of humor
captained
the ship
and
drove it with his bare feet.
He
explained how to use
the
snorkel, the mask, the flippers
and
how to do the chicken walk
off
the boat instead of jumping in.
I
wasn’t sure how well I’d snorkel.
I
did the chicken walk,
but
I was proud of myself
for
getting out of the boat.
I
swam around and breathed
through
my mouth
like
I was supposed to,
though
I longed to breathe normally.
I
saw black fish
and
yellow and blue fish
and
coral, then got tired
and
got back on the boat.
Lori
talked to a man
who
fed the fish
and
told her of a shark
that
would sit on his lap.
It
let him pet it like a dog.
He
was sad and mad
because
he had just found out
a
poacher had that shark for supper.
Then
we drove to another island
where
we stooped in the water
while
an excursion guide
held
up a critter to kiss.
The
stingray
looked
like a rubbery chair cushion with wings.
We
leaned forward and it puckered its lips.
Yuk.
I backed up and watchers laughed.
We
said an unwilling goodbye
to
the warm, crystal blue-green water.
Then
we went back to Grand Turk
to
do more souvenir shopping.
I
bought a painting
with
a church, palm tree,
and
waterfall looking tropical
with
blues, reds, and oranges.
People
swam
in
a swimming pool
blocks
from an ideal beach.
We
wondered why.
