In a quaint town in St. Mary,
I spotted an old lady with a kaleidoscope tied around
her waist and falling to her ankles
selling mangoes.
Behind her were strokes of shades of blue, white,
beige and seaweed-green--- this was not the place I
planted my umbilical cord. One minute, I stood on
the tip of my toe, body and left foot firmly in Kingston.
The next, I extended my right and reached across the
island. City chatter evaporated into seawater and mosquitos.
The potholes and gullies that hold water like soup stayed.
I stepped out of the vehicle, onto the new asphalt, never
taking my eyes off the gold, but the sound of a gunshot
stopped me. Nanny appeared; dark linens draped all over her
temples and torso, gold bullet lodged between shining teeth
that hinged on black gums.
Where do you think you’re going? Night will break but there
will still be cranes in the sky.
She sounded like my grandmother, but I didn’t feel like listening.
I continued on my path
to the orange-yellow mounds
but fell into a round
hole. Down there, I saw Bogle, a preteen being *****,
Tupac and lots of duppies. My hands
became bloodstained from fresh slits on my arms. The
heat from five hundred thousand eyes made my palms wet.
A white witch, the one from Rose Hall, started singing.
She knocked back two shots of vinegar and *****.
One for health and one for strength she said. Then, a shadow
offered the potion to me. I chugged it and came back to life.
It tasted like blood and sweat.
Why did I even bother doing my makeup?
Black eyeliner, now smudged, guarded my eyes,
keeping a pool of tears in its place. Fenty foundation,
running and brown like me. The mountain of orange-
yellows, reds and greens loomed before my tired eyes
like future skyscrapers. The woman was hidden by it
but I still could still feel her smile.
How much?
For you, free.
As I unmounted the mountain into my bag, the woman
was revealed to be me.
