Guyana, Venezuela, and Colonialism
Although the current lines dividing South America and the Caribbean were drawn by colonial powers and do not reflect the reality of the indigenous residents prior to colonisation, it is nevertheless important to recognise that the indigenous Caribbean people – in addition to the afro-Caribbean and indo-Caribbean people – living in the Essequibo region consider themselves Guyanese. This fact alone should warrant an end to the dispute.
Transnational Feminism and Gender-Based Violence
A world released from the vicious grip of gender-based violence demands building movements across borders and regions. It calls for us to agitate for Palestine’s liberation, to push for an end to the war in Sudan and assist those displaced by it, and to protest the neocolonial forces keeping the Democratic Republic of the Congo in conflict and its people exploited for resources that power our societies. It calls for us to stand with Guyana and the people of the Essequibo region – many of whom are indigenous – who are at risk of being uprooted from their homes in the face of potential annexation by Venezuela. It requires that we engage in direct action and work to elevate the Caribbean’s collective consciousness through education and the co-creation of feminist thought.
Coolieween
The names listed here are just a mere fragment of the lists upon lists of diasporic Indo-Caribbean women who have been injured, harmed, and murdered at the hands of heteropatriarchal power – whether that be in the form of their parents, community members, or even intimate partners.
Passing Through
It was not until my third affair (the wrench in my relationship with Despair), that I began souveniring. In some ways the habit snuck up on me and in some ways it did not. In some ways it was entirely haphazard, wild and almost beyond my control. In some ways, I was totally in control
Thriving Despite, Worlds-Shifting through Corona
Radical love in the time of Corona is making space for arms akimbo and mouth agape, for knee(s) bent and heartache, as we vacillate between dread, prayer, and protest, as we let go of how things were and how they should be.
Memory Games
Yuh wake up screaming, parched lips bitter from the tail-end of another nightmare…
In Chrysalis
There is a misconception that the love of a man is hard, reminiscent of a stone statue. They are harden, unmoving, craggy and as such brittle.
I Am Sitting
I’m tired of sitting. Now, I am standing up.
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
we the colourful the fluid the bold the open the rule benders…
A Triptych on My Queerness
Even after all these years
I still scared to say these words in public,
still caustous
to let Gay spilt my teeth open
being straight
being straight was like living in a closet
I didn’t know was a closet
some wealthy person’s closet
with enough room and variety
to convince me I wasn’t trapped
Forgiveness
As Shea sat in the pew listening to Father Lewis preach about forgiveness, her mind wandered back to the trial. Fr. Lewis was getting into the throes of the sermon and showed no signs of letting up any time soon. She allowed her thoughts to drift.
NESTED
My gratitude for your kindness was never expressed
For I was too young to be grateful
Too young to care, understand, or appreciate
You blessed three little girls of color
And valued their mother, a loyal worker for years
Too LOUD
I spoke loud with my red dress on,
The one that had the split on the sides.
Yeah, that one.
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.
Bra-less
I look up with my head high
Shoulders back
And a smile on my lips
Unafraid
Unashamed
Free
Un/furled
My doormmates whispered about “the lesbian book”. When I told my church youth group my mother had transferred me to an all girls boarding school the elder boys regaled everyone with tales about the lesbians there who used bottles as substitute dildos.
Generation Cry
Taitu Kai Goodwin. Taitu. Daughter of the Soil. Antigua Girls’ High School Alumna. Former Ambassador’s daughter. Miss Anguilla. Someone I knew. Taitu.
Open Secrets
Since I last saw you I’ve been thinking. Thinking about you. Thinking about us, about home, about those kids whose journey mirrors yours and mine, A journey walking with fear.