Sounds of the Farm

Walking to the common house, 

our boots crunch and scuff 

through the gravel and rusty dirt.

The wind rattles the royal Poinciana’s

crisp leaves and floods our ears

when we turn just so, but we still hear

the butcherbirds in the branches

begin to whistle complex tunes.

The cadence of French and English

conversations and the crinkle

of sandwich wrappers draw the birds

closer, promising them an easy lunch.