Safiya Sinclair Safiya Sinclair was born in Montego Bay, Jamaica. She is the author of Cannibal, winner of a Whiting Writers’ Award… “In Childhood, Certain Skies Refined My Seeing” by Safiya Sinclair “In Childhood, Certain Skies Refined My Seeing” Sunset. That blood-orange hymncombusting the year, nautilus chamber of youth’s obscurities, your empty roomfor psalms, lost…
Safiya Sinclair Safiya Sinclair was born in Montego Bay, Jamaica. She is the author of Cannibal, winner of a Whiting Writers’ Award… “Dreaming in Foreign” by Safiya Sinclair “Dreaming in Foreign” —after Caliban Have I forgotten it—wildconch-shell dialect, black apostrophe curledtight on my tongue? Or how the Spanish built wallsof broken glass to keep me…
Safiya Sinclair Safiya Sinclair was born in Montego Bay, Jamaica. She is the author of Cannibal, winner of a Whiting Writers’ Award… “Home” Read by Safiya Sinclair “Home” Have I forgotten it—wildconch-shell dialect, black apostrophe curledtight on my tongue? Or how the Spanish built wallsof broken glass to keep me out but the Doctor Bird…
“The Mother Portrait” – Read by Ishion Hutchinson “The Mother Portrait” Nyame, my mother, you are sick.I am afraid, as if I were in darknessand slit-white eyes are mocking me. The healer woman says you’ve been marked,that your enemy put a coolie duppyon you, so mornings when the basilrise in the nose, the duppy is…
“Colonial Girls School” Borrowed imageswilled our skins palemuffled our laughterlowered our voiceslet out our hemsdekinked our hairdenied our sex in gym tunics and bloomersharnessed our voices to madrigalsand genteel airsyoked our minds to declensions in Latinand the language of Shakespeare Told us nothing about ourselvesThere was nothing about us at all How those pale northern…
“In MyAmi” Dibby, dabby clouds puff along silky skyover the sea to tomorrow and forever.Wee fat legs go wayward for a plastic pailfleeing Mami’s coconut oily ministrations.Ma Donna and child tucked into a little shell ofquiet love on the crowded beach. The teens winging it, knees bending on slender skateboardsup the pavement, dodging the gawkers,…
“GROUNATION” out of that painthat bondageheavy heavy soundsour brothers’ weary marchour shackled trip a joyful horn takes offto freedom timeremembered & foretold Release I brother let me golet my people gohome to Ethiopiain the mind
My Son – Read by Christine Craig “My Son” My boy is on the brink of disasterprey to violent media, nasty,noisy music, claws snatchingpulling him out to the streetsthe compulsions, doors openingand closing quietly at nightthe lies, the excusesthe mutters and slouchesthe friends who won’tlook you in the eyesthe schoolwork not doneand the mothertense, red…
Kingston – Read by Christine Craig “Kingston” In a chic apartment high above the waterfrontan irritable intellectual looks overthe streets of Kingston, labels it definitivelyDante’s Inferno. His book lined walls standan army of soldiers to protect his troubledsleep, yet he plans another flight. He can’tstay, too provincial, violent, threatening.He can’t quite leave either. Estelle irons…