Simon Peter Eggertsen
 Twelve Questions in One Long Sentence

I have smelled the perfume of a thousand tonca beans hovering in the night air just above the forest path, and wondered what they could possibly add to the bitter taste of the cocoa, heard the paired green parrots chattering in the afternoon as they fly against the blue sky, and wondered what they were saying to each other and how long they would fly, waited for the crimson red of the ginger lilies to appear in the corner of the back yard, and wondered what pain provoked their deep, confused color, tasted the sense of the cherry-coconut ice cream, and wondered how to thank who ever thought of the mix, watched the yellow poui bloom all across the hillside, and wondered when the cooling rains would come, kissed the bites on my arm torn by the thorny branches of the red-purple bougainvillea along the driveway, and wondered who appointed them guard-dog sentinels, sucked on the rich yellow-orange flesh of the julie mango, and wondered how they got to be so sweet, opened the coconut and drunk its opaque water, and wondered where it got its coolness, danced the full brown cocoa beans around the box, oiling them up carefully for the 100 kilo bag, and wondered how many it would take to make a Hershey's Kiss, stripped the meager white flesh from the cocorite seed, and wondered how long it took to grow so little, healed the razor tears on my hand from the blade of a sharpened cutlass, and wondered how stupid I could be to blindly take it from the dark interior of the black knap sack, leaned toward the double rainbows over the Northern Range, and wondered who painted and hung them there?