So
on the island that sent me to America
my pen waxes fluid again
amidst walls of blue and orange
and stars on the ceiling
and the pots you hate
women who cook
feel more deeply than fern gully
sweet potato
and the meat most people think is bad for me
my eyes hurt
from the unfamiliar
the mosqitoes
the moths blinking certain in the night light turned against phobias
religions not quite understood
Cubans everywhere
the caramel layer increases
on this island
foreigners are so valuable here
small hints of American accents
and clothes with big letters spalyed open on our chest
heavy
the truth can be so heavy when you have to carry it on your chest.
motherfucker can't eat with all that truth
knocking gunshots outside your door
grill-lock the traffic-jam up the dance-hall and pull-up Mr. Selector!
This music does not speak for me
Jamaican woman
lesbian is only a small part of how I love
I am my grandmother's broken dentures
her ears do not work so well
in these last days
visitors are welcome
walk good mi chile
and don't let them tell you how to walk
when you walk- you just walk the way you was always walking
hold you head up high
hang your basket where you hand can reach it
reach for more than you think you need
old woman
with water in her eyes
when she thinks of me and snow and the whiteman
and his country
But I am safe
Grandma
I give them fuckers all kinds of hell
hallelujah
in the belly of my homeground
I am grounded
home is the loud clash of sound
sliding into silence
Silent is how I love this one
nobody knows
not even me
most days I tell myself I am dreaming
some days living is harder than peeling the transparent skin
from my flesh unremembering
I am Montego Bay
growing in leaps and bounding into this future of books to write
and shows to recover from
good friends are like pork chops
made well
you forgive what they say of cholesteral
and what the heart can take
and you just consume
more than you should
but it feels so
good
boys and beds and the sheer pleasure of how different things are now
girls
and water
and windows to fall into
what the breeze will do to you here
defies explanation
in Love and moods that giggle towards healing,
Staceyann
Stacey I have been loving your prose for a very very long time now. I am Jamaican too. And this poem spoke volumes to me.