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.
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.
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.
Praying for her Nádleehi
She wanted the baby to be okay. Slowly the vision started and she knew, she knew the way that mothers’ know. She knew that this was her child, even though the person in her vision was not a baby, not even a small child, she knew that this was her baby and yes her child was beautiful.
Intersections of fate
Reyna was 21, but looked and to some extent felt 16; like she hadn’t matured a day beyond the age she discovered the “oddness,” she sensed about herself, had a name.
I Was Eight Years Old
I couldn’t tell her what I had suffered. It was a guarded secret for me.
Spice up Your life
Growing up on this Caribbean island meant that society was not accepting of same sex unions. I felt like I had to be “straight” in order to fit in or to be accepted.
Welcome To De Sarcophagus Ah Patriarkey
De day afta de Red Muddah shut-up shap
Darkness de covah de rims ah Guyana
Castin de plague ah shadows
Into de souls ah de eye-suh-late.
Flight
We watched the queens of New Kingston in the gayest gully on earth caged birds with ambitions to soar grounded by clipped wings
She Who Has Found Herself
Sitting straight-backed on a cluster of smooth rocks, not too far from Jonita, was a breadnut-brown woman with a sprawling afro enclosed in a circle of plaits decorated with iridescent shells at the base, and a lush body with a waist that curved into…
But This is Not My Child
I could never tell a single soul how I really feel about the girl-child. She is not of me. She is my husband’s child.
Hot Oil
It was while she was frying plantains one day that she had a thought. She recalled how her mother used to tell her that to get the best results, the oil had to be very hot. “That’s it!” she exclaimed.
Fire in Her Eyes
She saw the spider crawl on the fading blue painted walls of her home. She timidly headed for the broom with the brush end facing the rather large, hairy, strange looking spider.