Been some long, scary, lonely weeks this past month.
Viral infection, pretending to be flu but it ain't, is not fun, lemme tell you all.
But, li'l bit, li'l bit,
I beginning to feel like the big-fat super moon everybody talkin' about;
like the wind after the rain wash-out the dust from me face,
and the sea at 4 o' clock in the afternoon, sun and waves doing a jig, evening waiting in the wings.
A li'l bit of that is how I feel today.
Thursday, July 24, 2014
Could you repeat that please?
I didn’t hear you…!
EH? WHA’ YOU SAY? ME CAN’T HEAR YOU TOO GOOD.
I come back to Guyana and me got ear infection.
Been to the ENT.
All advice accepted but you all gon have to speak up.
But y'all pleeeease don’t tell me about pouring crapaud oil, big-fat frog oil, in me pretty, little shell ears!!!
Tuesday, July 01, 2014
I’s in the state of Florida again! I should say “I’m Florida-ing.” Present continuous. Taking in, talking, listening, hearing, watching, doing, going, phewing!
Sunday afternoon, at my sister and brother-in-law house: five hungry, growing, video-game-competing, running, basketball-thunking, sweating boys, age 16 to 10; me, emailing; sister talking; brother-in-law upstairs watching football; mammy asking to watch Netflix.
Mammy saying, “I’ve never seen Forrest Gump.”
Suddenly, silence in the house apart from the movie.
I look up.
Along the curved, long settee, five boys and my mother-the grandmother with the white-white hair watching Forrest Gump.
Five boys, various shades o’ grunge, sweat and odour. One o’ them, a neigbour son, though pale as milk with brown hair, look exactly like the other four, like they been bathing in oil and heat and dirt, hair pointing north-south-east-west like weather-vane.
“Look,” I tell my sister.
“I feel like taking a tin o’ Febreze and sprayin’ them,” she say.
I join them on the settee, carefully choosing a spot to avoid sitting too close to the grungeS. The movie is going good and there is a lot o’ laughing, knee-slapping, from the audience.
Then Jenny in the movie start taking off she top.
Awkwardness is flying from them young chappies, fidgeting, shifting, turning they heads away, one or two giggling, ‘til one by one, they sliding off the settee and disappearing outdoors. (And de prude in me is feelin' real grateful.)
The war-part come on again, I watch them drifting in…
Monday, June 16, 2014
Near de sea
is we big ole home
that we father did build for we.
There are windows all around,
lettin' in de sunlight,
de cry of the hawk,
de water from de sky,
de flowers-perfume from the garden after de soaking rain,
and de shadows that play between sunshine and shade.
Sunday, June 15, 2014
“Happy Mother’s Day!” I does greet me brothers on Mother’s Day.
“Happy Father’s Day!” I does tell me sistah on Father’s Day.
In the past, before I did train them to respond correctly, they useta say, “Splutter splutterspluttersplutter. Splutter!!”
“Well, we have a mother so we should celebrate!” I tell them. “And we had a father!”
Now that I got them trained, they know the correct response. “The same to you!!”
This morning, one brother phone, and me sister-in-law text me to wish me Happy Father’s Day!
Thursday, June 05, 2014
Nov. 20, 2013: Why does it matter to me, the health of earth, sky, sea? Because my health depends on it. Yours and your children's well-being too.
Nov. 22, 2013: In a cool, wind-swept verandah by the sea I sit, still, filling my senses with fat, fleecy clouds and rain-washed green leaves.
A brown rose stem pokes thru de ol' almond tree and does a Bollywood move. "Ain't de verandah better than tv?" the cool sea-wind says to me.
Dec. 17 2013: My sun's risen in your far-away sky, and your silver moon's shining in my room tonight, and both say that east and west can meet.
And the white sugar-cane flower, invisible in the sun, waves her finery like a dancer in the moonlight by the sea, blowing kisses.
In my new home:
Feb. 8 2014: Almost evening, feet on windowsill, sea-wind washes over me, Indian tunes on radio…ahh, life in the tropics, still no proper Internet!
Feb. 14, 2013: Moon's a lamp between two palm trees, lighting de ocean in de east. De silvery water quivers in de high wind, looks like a mermaid’s playground.
Mar. 1, 2014: Me drunk with sea-wind. In background, SarahBrightman singing in Spanish.
Mar. 5, 2013: They think I'm nuts, a crazy woman begging the sane. "Please don't use pesticide, weedicide, it will pollute the sea, the things we eat."
Mar. 29, 2014: Ay yai yai, glorious sunny day, Brazilians' barbecue wafting up, dry palm fronds swinging in de tree to sea-wind song.
Apr. 5. 2014: Outside, Ocean plays her ancient song of journeys. Inside, Mohammed Rafi on black and white film sings of love and dreams.
Apr. 15, 2014: Verandah view: sea is silk, morning's cool and smells of wood. Some fat flies are trying to spew all over this. Ahh, life in the tropics.
Apr. 18, 2014: De bamboo chimes a-gobblin', de pipe chimes a-clinkin' an de sea's a-soughin', heavin' heavy sighs as cars tear past on de asphalt.
Apr. 19, 2014: Through de kitchen door, de ocean looks heavy and full. So high she is, I look at de ocean eye-to-eye!
Apr. 21, 2014: A garden, fragrant flowers; Irish "auntie" and the whistling doc, bread, jam, juice, sea wind, kites above, laughter from the seawall.
May 3, 2014: My day's begun: watching the foaming on the sea; prayers, three gunshots heard outdoors. And now listening to a Jeffrey Iqbal song.
May 9, 2014: ...the sun's risen, is casting golden light on the silver sea. The sea shimmers with such beauty, I can't take it in, I have to look away.
May 16, 2014: If I could weave a hammock today, it would be from the sea today, grey & white and lulling with an old, old song.
May 25, 2014: ...de silver rain and de grey-white sky blend-up mist with de ocean, churnin' milky foam towards land, and I run into de balcony to dream...