A Kind of Refugee
Jamaican cook
in a British B & B
in a British B & B
dishes out breakfast
to refugees.
to refugees.
My father
would not have imagined
would not have imagined
seeing me here,
hearing of me fleeing a war.
hearing of me fleeing a war.
In search of new homes, new starts,
we share a roof with others,
have a common dream.
grab at second chances.
My father
would never have dreamed
would never have dreamed
Of seeing me defeated.
Firstly, I'd like to tell you a Spanish version of some of your poems are published online in this site I’ve created in these days, Literaturas y Periferias, namely Literatures and Peripheria:
ReplyDeletehttp://literaturasyperiferias.wordpress.com/306-2/
I’d love to elaborate on the project I have just started, maybe in a email later on.
My positioning as a non-hegemonic writer (writing in Spanish in the Middle East), dwelling in this dazzling , restless , rough atmosphere around, gives me a unique gaze of physical and spiritual survival. I know I share this special place with many other creators and it is about time to take joint projects and make our poetry visible and lively to the world.
all the best
Shamefully, I know less than I should about this chapter of Liberian history but your memoir If Only the Dust would Settle and this piece which could easily fit into that collection, illuminate the human tragedy/cost.
ReplyDeleteI thought of you when news came down of Charles Taylor's conviction, a part of me wanting to discuss it with you but not knowing how to ask given that it's more than a story for you, you lived it.
Thanks for sharing this. If you don't mind, I'll also share it on the wadadlipen.wordpress.com blog.