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Poetry Soapbox

Poetry Soapbox


By Lorna King
PRIDE Poet Laureate

I know this; with more than my hands;

my mother’s mother willed it on to me

and I thought it was a heritage of dust.

she explained how sunbeams undulate,

and how moonshine embraces nerves

because long ago,

when we swam,

breaking waves

we felt the heat; we were curious;

and moonlight

tempted lunacy

so we relocated

and here we are,

with the women of my tribe sweating,

pounding yucca into bread with mirth.

We have forgotten the wet, deep place

-learnt dry. memories from the ancient

gone, except as showy ceremonial lace.

Lorna King -- bylineLorna King, who worked in various hotel management capacities in Jamaica and in the U.S.A. before migrating to Canada in 1998, was awarded the Order of Distinction, Officer Class, by the Jamaican government in 2009. She is also a former President of P.A.C.E. (Canada) and a Director of the People Bridge Charitable Foundation.

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