Be transient with me,
Son of St. Vincent and indigenous seed,
A hybrid blackness springing from the salt of the sea,
You belonged to the earth,
But now to me,
I’ll tell you Old World myths,
You tell me about
Fasten me with pre-Colombian hands,
To shipwreck stories,
About America’s lands,
On Roatan’s sand,
And its backwards strands.
I’ll appreciate your black subjectivity,
But in your hands,
You can reduce me to my exoticity.
Cuz I know you get the fullness of me
and I get the totality of you
my maroon son of the Caribbean sea.
Copyright © 2012 Nichelle Calhoun