Jamaica and I

Image source: Robert Thornton’s Temple of Flora, 1807

Even if my island will never love me,

or wrap its coconut leaves around this queer body,

to soothe me into the lullaby of Jamaica Farewell

I will.

Even if my island despises me for calling it “mine”

or claim me as an “other”

Despite this foreignness I inhabit

I am whole.

Even if my island has not met me yet,

or acknowledged my existence

Someday I’ll link fingers with the land,

From the earth to its people.

One of many.

Even if my island won’t accept my tongue

or pick apart my identity, piece by piece

Mi ago laan patios.

Even if my island won’t see the proof of my Caribbeaness

plastered on my appearance

or the way I move about in this world,

I am proud of the culture who warms my belly like the first sip of sorrel.

Even if my island is swallowed by the tides,

larger than my minuscule life.

Again and again,

I shall stand above the surface

As a daughter of River Mumma herself.

Even if my island and I haven’t seen eye to eye

or mingled in the same spaces,

the pride I carry will never fade into the background.

I capitalize my BLACKNESS.

The Afro in Afro-Caribbean

will always be printed in bold ink.