In the calm waters of the crossing,
before the final storm, the Captain
did not think about how little gold
he’d found or about the natives chained
below, he slept the peaceful sleep
of champions after the battle,
before the nightmares and dreamed of sons
crowned in glory, all those islands theirs
to have and harvest and command.
And he dreamed of cows and sheep and pigs,
his would be a land that welcomed
the spotted and the brindled goat,
a well regulated land where all
know their place and all practice the art
of gentlemanly leisure. He dreamed
again of sugar and of a sea
of green stalks on islands where vipers
have no venom. And then of happy
naked natives mining gold, moving
through fields of sugar cane like
manatee in seaweed gardens, he
would wake each morning to their song
and the sound of their dance, the rattle
of shell anklets, the beat of their feet,
and smile. His clairvoyance never
saw but happiness in their dance,
and beneficence in his sons’ rule.

-Jeremy Paden