Miss Lunch Lady

Tell me

Which part of Trinidad are you from?

You thought I'd miss your hot-fire head

And the twin-island earrings dangling from your face

Do you miss it?

The sun, the breeze, extolled by the people themselves.

Absent from the winter months of the states.

Do you miss it?

Kindly oblige this Yankee girl's dreams

Please.

Trinidad is a place I could belong to

I can belong too

A place that hugs me, grass licking my feet

Even if my skin smells like French fries and pollution.

Round, sturdy woman. Miss Lady

Which part of Trinidad are you from?

Do you miss the turquoise waters too?

You all are so brave

Here, we're mauled by sharks 

But your mighty hands make them a delicacy

My grandmother is a wind-chime woman

My mother was born standing on her two feet

Their house stood the pitter-patter of 10 pairs of kids-feet

Your land, a luscious song

Unwinding, winding around mountains, hill peaks, and patches of city.

Ms. Whole-Warm, fire woman

Promise you'll take me with you next time

It's my home too

9/3

A man said said silly things to me today that made me feel special.

He didn't mean to though.

Not the way I thought.

I think too much. Smile too hard. Want this rough, rushed love so bad my head is spinning someone catch me before I...


I don't want that

I just want what I want
the right way


9/16


Today, a man told me some stupid shit that made me feel good about myself.
Only this time
I went looking for it


Stupid shit
Generic shit about my smile
But I went looking for it

And I found it

Classics

Humming "the spinners" old tune

Stupidly falling in love

With myself 

Dedication: Turning 22

To my moonchildren, my melanin soul sisters, my other-mother brothers.

To my teachers, coaches, and mentors, whose blackboards, tracks, living rooms, canvases, hallways, and two room apartments have taught me more about life and myself than any textbook can teach me.

To my blood, separated by ocean, sand, sun dust, but have tied your strings to my fingers so that everything I do, everything I make, will be done with the craft of proud Seaton blood.

To my baby-girls and my maybe-girls. To my wild flowers, wall flowers, and steel-magnolias. The dope-as-hell, the house of fleek, and cunning caterpillars.

To delightful movie-reel memories, encased in the crown of my head. To the wild tongues that shocked me, hot hands that moved me.

To kin woven together in C minor chords. In discord, and in harmony. To outstretched arms, cradling shoulders, and raised voices.

To the dwelling spirits over me, hovering, guiding. Quietly, quietly.

To our insistence on existing, on living. Audaciously. To have our dreams and raise hell about it.

In the beauty of it all, my heart has swelled to my throat with gratitude. Thank you all for sharing in this life-stone with me. By His grace, I have many more miles to go

Asterius

And just like that

You were gone

Your gentle presence 

Your meekness

You were the only one who could bring me to tears

without ever hurting me

'89

Sing until you can feel the notes streaming down your face.

Taste the salt in your tears 

and remember that your soul is as vast as the ocean 

you are it's depths. 

I let people feel through the softest parts of me..

..but they would still sift through looking for some kind of grittiness. 

It's always something