Beverley Manley and Jamaica
When last you shot white rum
As the Party motion inches along, keeping pace
with comrade sisters?
Fighting Ooman
Gyal learn how fi bite di bullet man wrought./Passive an’ active resistance, mi neva figet history lessons from di girls’ school.
Woman
Woman,
You spend years wrapping me up
in your selves
Wind me tight
Blueing breasts and juiced out abdomen..
I, My Grandmother
My grandmother seasoned Saturday soups with songs,
but never the ones from the land she left behind.
She anointed my scalp with oil,
plaited my hair with prayers,
spooned love with the chocho into my mouth.
gaze
don’t you dare break her gaze
don’t your dare break the chain
the stories must live on
we don’t exist
it has come to my attention that we don't exist
Freedom
Basic freedom was denied
And daily I cried.
Labeled as the “weaker sex”
Taunted mercilessly. My soul grew vex.
Wretched. Worthless
An imbecile. Senseless.
Un/furled
I moved to Canada for university convinced that in that free space (a space, I didn’t then realise, where what freedoms it could acclaim were built on Indigenous genocide, continuous exploitation and theft) I could be more myself.
these burdens that I carry
everything destroyed in reverence of a new god, an unfamiliar god, they called him money. this god had power unlike any my people knew before, and to how my grandfather told it - it demanded servitude, offerings, and sacrifice like no other. It was an angry god.
Shedding- the mitoXANDRIA
In order for any woman to grow she must shed every mindset that doesn’t fertilise her purpose…
A Jamaican Ode to the Spring Equinox
We don’t have spring,
summer, autumn, winter.
We live in green days
that throb with the steel-pan
rhythm of rain on zinc roofs
Her Fate Decided
It was three months after moving into their new home that Toni-Ann was recognising a new pattern with George. He seemed secretive, withdrawn at times and agitated with her most days.
If you’re anything like me
If you’re anything like me, you’ve probably known for a long long time that your mental landscape is very different…
Wrinkled Memory
There are pockets in my mind
that empty themselves
Is This Because I’m Gay?
But until gays are free,
My happiness will never be enough for me
Blue Dream (I am just a descendant)
Inna mi dream -
a blue dream,
where we
trod through tanks of indigo
years upon years
with paddles,
hands wrinkled
bodies being burnt,
like your tar babies,
I am that little Black Girl
I can also vividly remember being told by somebody I loved that I was beautiful for a black girl. I can honestly say that I did not fully understand the implications of this comment. I now understand.
Don't Marry Us. Instead, Stand By Us.
The worst part of it all, is that there are deep roots of trauma still plaguing our families yet the outsiders only care about the resorts, the plantain, or the reggae that is overplayed on certain radio stations.
Invisible Scars
Here she was, head laid, in the lap of the boy who was her rising sun, the peas to her rice. A tender moment spoiled by a bigoted anecdote.
New Names
We've fought then, we fight now.
Who kyah hear, muss burn. And I'm
tired of that being us,