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PREE: PREE - Caribbean. Writing.
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Joey popping up in Portland was kinda crazy. It was about three years ago that she met him at Trinidad carnival, her in her elaborate wings and he in his shirt from his friend’s brand. He was a fisherman by trade, and the dexterity of his fingers translated beyond tying line, she remembered that much.
The post
Something else inside her
Spins in the other direction
She tears open the pulpit and
Places her hands against both columns
Rocks the sanctuary to each side
Pulls the roof down and covers
Serpents, sinners and saints alike
Before moving to another place
Where perhaps she will be forgiven
Where perhaps she will find a home
She imagined the countless deyas conjuring others into life around the planet as it spun into darkness, wrapped in coils of these little beads of light. She thought of the first Indians brought here almost two hundred years ago, lighting their deyas — in those days not so different from the lamps their colonial masters used — under strange skies.
The post
And when the only thing being raised from the dead is a stench,
we desire your help; we have opened a carrion-café,
offering you a buffet of our unburied. You who glide high and look low,
you who are not Gods but angels of the fetid flesh.
The post Ode to the ...
This is an essay about spirals and the shape migration takes when you look at it honestly. It is about how Haitian Spiralism taught me to read my own Nigerian displacement and about how you can study a philosophy that emerged from a context completely different from yours and still find yourself reflected in its waters, still hear your own heartbeat in its drums.
The p...