Letters from an Island: Part I

Art by Heather Doram, Antigua

Krik, krak

an island space

temporal and

eternal through

natives’ speech

reminding generations

of a land

that brought

them forth in a birth pan

and rested them

in a grave

For them

will my shores be

a landing

for conquistadors

coming to fulfill

a prophecy

as merchants

holding golden chains?

Will my ports

become an entry

for stolen souls?

Will Africans stand

on my shore

and stare across to the horizon

wondering whether

they’ll ever fly back

to their bodies

caught in rip tides

and stuck between

my currents.

Will I become

recolonized through

tanned asses,

and reddened skins

lounging on sands

with bodies

buried below?

Bahama mamas

and sky juices

tell more tales than

ghosts of Arawaks

haunting left behind

bowls

In the production of paradise,

Fiction is reality.

As an island

I am reformed

in any image

outside my own:

To my mother tongue

rebirth me

in the image of a gaulin

so I may slip off this skin

And take flight.

Regards from Guanahani