Prose Poem: The Woman in the Roots

 

I saw the young woman in the roots

of a large tropical tree

during my last trip to 

the Marmalade Isles.

I fell in love with her.

Naturally.

I told her I loved her

but she only fled silently

into the jungle.

I pursued her, but got lost.

Naturally.

Some natives guided me back

to my hotel, 

where I used Face Recognition Technology

to identify my newly beloved

and went to her house.

Naturally.

I didn't ask for her; I asked 

for her parents.

Naturally.

That's how things are done

on the Marmalade Isles.

They invited me in for

camphor biscuits and hibiscus

tea.

We spoke of love and desire,

and the imminence of death.

I was old, she was young.

I gave them a bag of Krugerrands.

Naturally.

But their daughter only went

deeper into the roots of the

tropical trees, and I lost her

forever. 

I respected her decision.

But I did ask for the Krugerrands back.

Naturally.