My cousin called us to a corner of the yard
where a coconut tree struck shadows
of long stripes with ends like knives.
“Look,” he said, “it’s almost time.”
He unravelled the thin scrap of cloth
that had been wrapped round his thumb
for a week. We knew something
happened when he went to visit
Uncle who had the temper of a typhoon.
We pictured coconuts falling at sharp
angles from slender trees as the winds
swirled round and round a single
moving eye. But he wouldn’t tell us.
The dark skin looked
dead around that loose nail.
With his other hand
he gave the nail a quick tug,
made us all shout.