Poems Written on Hotel Stationeryn1. Las Brisasnby David R. SlavittnA cliff. . . they often put these hotels on cliffs.nBirds dart across the sky making squeaky-toyncries of delight. (Or are they hungry?) Below,nwe see the sea and can descend for lunchnin the shelter of thatch. Outside, in the sun on the sand,nnatives trudge, hawk silver bracelets, dresses,nhats, kites . . . One girl sold toy rats.nWe repair up the hill where the greatest demand upon usnis the daily death of hibiscus blossoms they putnin the pool each morning to drift and waterlog,nand lack of stress is the only stress. Each day,nwe inspect the sunset. Later, we’ll have a nightcapnunder the stars and over the constellationsnof lights below, the town we look down on that clingsnto the hem of the mountain’s skirts across the bay,nand wonder perhaps what they can dream of down there.nIt is up to us to see what those dead eyesncannot imagine. They take for granted the hotnsand that has burnt their soles to the toughness of shoes.n2. The Inn at Spanish BaynFrom across the dunes at sunset, a piper skirls:nthe simple meeting and merging of fire and waternas the sun drips from the raspberry millefeuillenconfection the sky has become into the silvernfoil of the ocean’s wrapper is not enough,nso management tries to retain the patrons’ attentionnby such bizarre grace notes. And the motif isnScottish, after all. From the golf links: Troon;nSt. Andrews; why not a piper? Nevertheless,nthe kitchen is northern Italian, some higher-upnhaving drawn the line, thank God, at haggis. It works,none must confess, and that nature, naked, requiresntinkering. No place, no event is evernsufficient unto itself. At Pebble Beach,ntee shirts, allude to Maui, as there, to here.nTo sit still, to be wholly where we arenand be content even with luxury, sunsets’nspectacular shows of the sky and the sea, demandsntoo much, is too expensive, exclusive. Heaven!nIt’s almost all one could want. But it costs the earth. •nnnJANUARY 1990/29n