“Hafa adai,” the gentle sphere alerts,
peering through my blinds and stroking my cheeks.
I sit up in my hibiscus-printed bedsheets,
tired, crust lining my vision,
but yawn and stretch
my arms above my head.

The grass outside is a dazzling emerald,
the lush carpet moist with morning dew.
Tall trees dangling with fuzzy brown fruits
lazily shade the few animals
scuttling among the weeds.

Crashing distantly, the ocean
sparkles with glitter that seems to fall from the sky,
and a warm breeze tickles the sandbars.
The rough crustaceans, the jubilant swimmers,
kicking their feet to stay afloat
in the parabolic rhythm.

Soft melodies grace the village,
causing heads to turn and eyes to smile.
The familiar beat running through
their veins.
Cha-cha, shuffle, waltz, sway
Whatever floats your boat goes.

So I sit in my blue-green-and-white lawn chair,
sunglasses framing my face.
I reach over and pick up the cold glass,
ice clinking as if trying to escape its watery grave
and take a cool sip,
cotton-dry mouth finally quenched.

How I love my island, I think to myself,
before my eyes flicker shut,
the comfortable warmth
beating down on my back.