between two seas

I’m surrounded by water with salt in my eyes and my body light – floating. I have a moment of fear, that i will float away and never stop. I am always afraid of letting go. The water doesn’t give me a choice. She holds me. Cradles all my fears and carries the stories of my ancestors in her molecules.

I stand between two oceans and i cannot hold my body up any longer. My knees begin to buckle as i feel the weight of my ancestors pain hit my like the crashing waves of the atlantic mere feet away. My limbs feel like jelly as the breeze of the caribbean sea behind me carries away the all the feelings of displacement that i have carried in my body. I have come home and my mind cannot catch up with all my soul is experiencing.

I sit on the hot, dry  ground. Feeling each blade of grass on my bare legs. I am overcome by these oceans. This is not just water. This is more than waves on rocks and gentle breezes. My outer vision blurs while my inner knowledge deepens, sharpens. I see my ancestors surviving on these journeys. I understand many did not. I feel their bodies in the water. I can hear their voices, whispers to hold on, screams as they let go. I know when I can stand again, I must get to calmer waters and put my body in this water. The ocean that they made their new home in, around. I must feel my ancestors memories on my body.

As I sit and inhale the legacies that these oceans hold. I see a man all in white working inside a white house. All white walls. It looks brilliant and fresh in the mid-morning sun. I can tell from the quietness that surrounds it that no one in living in it. I watch him painting white walls white. His clothes are bright white. He’s too far and behind a glass window so I can’t see his expression as he works. I continue to watch him. I had crossed over a ditch and passed a faded “NO TRESPASSING” sign. I wonder if he will see me and ask me to leave. I wonder if he would understand why I needed to be here, between these two oceans. Something tells me he would. When I go back a week later, I see him again, he’s outside of white house, leaning against a white truck, dressed all in white. I don’t see any paint on him. I wonder if he just starting his day. He says ‘Good morning’ and watches me walk. I cross the road, hovering, wondering if i can walk on to this property with him standing right there. He calls out again – it’s not his house. The owners are rich people who don’t live here, he thinks they might be british. White.

We exchange some pleasant words and jokes about these foreign people and their big houses. My accent betrays me, but he waves of my foreignness, asks me where my daddy’s from. He reveals a big smile when I tell him. He tells me “ay gyal, this your home too then.”

I go to the edge of the sea. I can stand today. I have my ancestors with me, holding me up. I see him in the house again. All in white. Painting white walls white. We exist, not knowing, all knowing, between two seas.

godbody I

 

godbody I

my body is

my soulhome

a soft place to land for broken men

for my sister who share the weaving of dna and trauma

a place where i’m fine could not be more of a lie

as my body finds its balance

when i can listen to this godbody

we slowly, slowly heal

i sink into the comfort of care

i am thousands of years of –

yes baby lay your troubles down

i am a millennia of soothing words and open arms

let your troubles flow through me

my water smooths the hardness into sand

move with me flow with me

White Hands

Content Warning:

This piece includes description and discussion of sexual violence and abuse, which includes racialized sexualized violence (sexual violence + racism) and ongoing trauma. This is deeply personal and something I have chosen to not speak about until recently. 

I still tremble,

Feeling your  hands stroke

The softness of my inner thigh

Colonizing my young, brown body

For your own

 

I still tremble,

The memory of undressing, coxing

Your bright eyes taunt me

– you don’t want to end up alone –

I still tremble at the familiarity of

the words you spoke

Your white mouth hot with rage

I shut my eyes

 

I still tremble,

When i remember the way you stole from me

My deepest love

Reserved for myself, my ancestors dreams

 

Letting these white hands trace the lines of my skin

Skin that holds the stories of my ancestors

Hands that hold us down

With the kind of violence that comes disguised as love

 

Love that is dangerous

– An exotic obsession –

Love that tells me i can’t come inside, your mother is home

Love that tells me I will never be an equal cause

 

We – brown skin, hair that catches in your fingers –  

are built for

– Fucking –

Not loving

– Owning –

Not holding

 

I still tremble when a white man moves too close –

His existence a threat and a memory

I still feel your hot breath:

– be quiet –

I still feel your strong hands:

– be still –

I still feel your body move in me:

– you n****r bitches love it –

 

September 9th 2018

OPACITY

i feel like i am drowning

swallowed by whiteness

fragmented

alienated by sameness

 

multicultural *

 

*stands for _______

 

assimilation

polite smiles

and working twice as hard

for half of what [they got]

 

Canada*

 

*stands for ________

 

stolen

h o m e

forgotten

[a better life]

 

i am tired

of white women asking me to explain

Why we feel this pain

of white women touching my skin & my sister’s hair

stop girl – you gonna hurt yourself before that hand gets to this body

 

i am tired

of our men

making h o m e s in our hearts

only to set them on fire

for becky with the good hair

 

their healing and our heartbreak

are touched by desire – not for our love – but the

O p a c i t y of [whiteness]

 

i am tired of skin bleaching

and hair relaxers

more common that shades beyond ivory &

mayo

 

i am tired of shame

and hiding our magic

i am tired of my brothers & sisters dying

i am tired of my relative safety

that my proximity to whiteness equals proximity to safety

and not knowing what to do –

and how to shed this shame

trade it in for action

not reaction

 

mixed *

 

*code for _______

 

“you’re pretty for a..”

“don’t tan too much”

existing outside the lines

“but what. are. you?”

of love crossing lines

 

May 5th 2018

skin

 

S K I N

tracing fingertips along

lines made of our ancestors dreams

 

S K I N

tastes sweet like peaches

in hot summers

 

S K I N

smells of oceans salt

sounds like i love you, whispered

 

S K I N to S K I N

i let you envelop me

i drink in sweat//memories

2018

h o m e

I dream of loving you

So deeply, clearly

Falling into each other like melting

Clouds on my tongue

I taste [h o m e] in you

 

I turn the words in my mouth, looking for the right way to

say i don’t know where i __________

And you pull the words [h o m e] right from my lips

 

I step back in to the soft glow of longing

I sink deep into you, while i wait

While we wait

For [h o m e]