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      September 10, 2014Elizabeth ChapmanThe Day Is the Island

      and the island a man who loves you
      hearing the ubiquitous chickens of Kauai
      uncaged since Iniki wrenched them free
      the rooster will begin at dawn
       
      who loves you
      setting a green chair under the ironwood tree
      and drinking coffee there
      the campfires have gone out
       
      and the tide going out too he loves you
      while you wait in the coconut wind for dawn
      to complicate things

      from #43 - Spring 2014

      Elizabeth Chapman

      “‘Writing this on the train, I missed my stop’ was the title for the first draft of this poem, because that’s exactly what happened: A tropical breeze must have whisked me away from the Caltrain car I was riding back home from San Francisco. When I looked up from my notebook, the buildings of downtown Palo Alto were vanishing before my eyes. Leapt up, ran downstairs, and got off at the next stop, praying, as I dashed across the tracks, not to be caught and cited on the next northbound train for using an invalid ticket. All was well. Mahalo.”