Why do I return
year after year
Knowing that crocodiles wait for me
wade for me
in bleached blue swimming pools
Knowing that my body
is not worthy of her white sand shores?
Who does she belong to
if not the mangroves and the butterflies?
Who must build department stores upon land
once prized by kings?
The ground burns my feet
in retribution for the transgressions of my ancestors upon it
and the air wets my skin
with the tears of God.