Tall poles of sugar cane grew in parallel
lines as far as a child's eye could see.
We played hide and seek there, running
through the rows, our feet rustling dull
grey husks, kicking up the soft, dark
island dirt as we ran. The cane fields
were our magic forests where we dwelled
without secret, imaginary friends despite
those tall, forbidding shadows mother
cast upon our dreams. I was called Alano
then, was a mystery man from another world
listening to you call me:"Alan, come here,
come here this instant. I told you never
to play with those children ever again.
You'll fall down. You'll get hurt.
Alan are you listening? Alan‑‑‑"
She could hear us rustling between rows,
could see our shadows as we danced into night,
where the sugar cane stood up like
pointed stakes and the rats came running
through the fields, baring their thin,
Alan Catlin two most vivid memories form his childhood involve a year spent on The Virgin Island of St Croix and growing up near, and going to, Coney Island amusement park. His latest his a full length memoir with poetry, “Books of the Dead”.