For the past of two days,
I’ve encountered the question,
What’s Next?
four times, in various ways.
Of course, this is not the first time
I’m hearing these words together or separately,
but this is the first time the question
stood like a peacock in my mind
opening it glorious feathers
spreading its ornamental blue,…
I don’t mean to sound like the Me and Mrs Jones song
But me and my writer-friend
Have this thing going on.
We have been meeting at the same cafe
on Friday
around 10am
to discuss our writing.
We talk about our
projects
pains
pleasures
and our passion for writing.
We talk…
With no lover to hold
or pull me back to bed
I wake early,
drape my robe on
and walk to the living room.
I pull the shutters, gently,
trying not to wake the children.
The shutters open with a creak --
reminding me that shutters make noises
and I can’t control these…
At twilight
I rolled up my leggings
Inched my feet into the sea
And sauntered to meet the sunrise.
I stood in the glow of it
And let my skin steep in the
the new light.
Walking
At noon
I ordered a pina colada,
Hubby ordered a beer
We sat at the tiki bar
Watched our…
This morning my mother and brother reminded me, via our family group chat, that I promised to share my Jamaican Hardough Bread recipe. I could have easily typed it, or take a picture of the one I've been using for quite some time, but there was something therapeutic about preparing this copy for my family.…
I migrated from Jamaica to the United States when I was eleven years old.
I have lived in four states,
seven cities, and thirteen homes.
From these experiences, I have learned:
Home is not just a physical space.
Home is daily conversations my sister,
laughter with my brother, and the length of my mother's never-ending, but sagacious stories.
Home is coffee…