Outside my hotel window, stands the Fortin de San Geronimo, an old fort built by the Spanish government in 1609 to defend the island from attack. After my first evening, I dreamt of murder, and a Spanish man screaming. I’m intuitive by nature, but my island bliss should bring peaceful dreams. This is a discovery I never intended to find, but when your mind searches, sometimes the spirits answer back. (If you believe in spirits.)
I have asked the ghosts that linger along the shoreline to leave me alone for a bit, for this is my vacation. However, the dream captured my attention so fully, I decided to weave the threads into a poem. Be warned, this Geronimo is not for the faint of heart.
Your screams awake me in the night,
“Secreto, Secreto,” a man screams with fright.
A violent act,
Soldiers hold your arms,
They take a sword and stab straight down.
Whatever your words,
Secrets shall never be sung.
A dagger, bold and sharp, has taken your tongue.
Red blood, spanish wine, a traitor is free,
A life over, they return you to the sea.
Long ago san Geronimo,
Battles were lost and won.
Memories still linger,
And a writer discovers an island son.