Anticipating JamaicaAnticipating Jamaica I come to scenes of trains crossing jungle islands in the island nights. I am nursing at the breast of sky that hangs through the window, a sea wind a hundred miles from the sea. I passed a couple walking and heard cool jazz blowing tunes crazy, blind, and wild. In some other part of life, I was. Now, I am. This is a melody it hurts to play. I watch a child nursing his dull head on his mother’s teats. Away and far these scenes are played. Away and far. I saw a childI saw a child playing on the street. He kicked a rock and watched it skip away. He ran towards it on naked, tiny feet, as the shadows changed from morning into day. The trees waved to the rock, while the wind danced with the leaves. I leaned against a tree and watched him run. The summer turned to autumn, as a mother grieves. And the trees, the rock, myself and the boy were one. MemoirWatching you was like passing through a dream. The smoke blew and a thousand hands reached to shape it. Dreams, smoke. All are real. You moved as if the dream were chasing you.
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