Thursday, April 21, 2016

Whatagwan

I once traveled to Jamaica
I looked around and I thought I saw my mother
or maybe my great-grandmother
I saw reflections of myself 
I walked up to her and said good morning ma
She greeted me but in a distinct jamaican accent
whata gwan
I peered in her eyes and realized she wasn’t my mother
I swear in reincarnation or separation by the seas
by the boats
by the generations disappeared from their homelands
leaving holes in my stories
we are all displaced even on our home continents 
i am at awe at how similar we can be
Damien walked just like my uncles back home
same strut, same swag, same confidence
he greeted his friends by locking their thumbs
we snap our interlocked fingers
foreign lands but i feel at home with these people
they drink fish soup for breakfast like my people
the girls chatting it up in the hair salon while I get my senegalese
twists

foreign lands but i feel at home with these people

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