Poetry: Games We Dared Not Play With Our Grandmothers

Children Children

Yes Mummah

Where have yuh been to

Gran Mummah

What did she give yuh

Bread and pear

Where's my share

Up in the air

How can I reach it

Climb on a broken chair

Suppose I fall

I do not care

Oooo learn you dat manners

The dog

Oooo is the dog

You!

Wi laugh till wi belly hurt wi

hands on knees only for a moment.

Our spindly legs pump as we run

flit like the doctor bird to invisible buds.

From behind yellow and green croton

bushes, a little bit of worn red cloth peeps out.

Finding me is no challenge.

Dandy shandy. Bet yuh cyan lik me.

The As sound long, the Ns a trampoline

the first syllables homing in on the sing-song

iambic rhythm sprouting between our shoulder

blades rolling up and down

around our thin hips like hula hoops.

We leap over the ball, run, fall

bounding up before the ball hits us

slide, not caring about rough gravel

piercing young skin. Gweh bwoy!

Granny bristles at the brawling behavior.

Akimbo, we fling bony bodies

left and right and round and round

sliding the play words free.

Thin high voices float over the valley

Mek we go to the tamarind treeeeeee.

Time to dust off the crisp brown shells

and crack them with our teeth

snaking out the pulpy sweet and sour fruit

We coat them with sugar pinched

from our grandmother's kitchen. Loving

the feast, our mouths spurt juice and praise

our lips shoot with the shiny black seeds.

Light from the Saturday sun, pierce

the treetops landing on the husked shells

and our eyes. Soul says thanks for the fun.

First published in Luminescent Ships: Love Songs To Caribbean American Life

September 2023