Two Poems by Geoffrey Philp

Audio versions read by the author

 

 

A Prayer for My Children

When you find yourself in a faraway land

surrounded by men, animals that mutter strange

sounds, do not be afraid: neither you, your parents,

 

nor your ancestors have ever been alone.

So trust the earth to bear you up, follow

the wind as it leads you through valleys

 

clustered with trees heavy with fruit –

some that seem familiar enough to eat,

but you still aren’t sure they are the same

 

as the ones you left on the other side

of the river that you’ve now forgotten.

Eat. Feast on the bounty. Feed the fire

 

that burns away the knot in your stomach,

sets ablaze the horizon, all that your eyes

can see – that has been promised to you

 

since your cry pierced the morning air:

your parents bathed you with kisses,

baptized you with caresses,

swaddled you in care before you uttered

your first words to the moon, sun, stars,

wobbled your first steps into unknowing –

 

all the while rising into your inheritance.

And if you awaken under the branches of a cotton tree,

cradled in its roots, draw a circle around yourself

 

and all those whom you love, cross

yourself three times before you step

over the threshold. Welcome the ancestors,

 

all the kindly spirits who have followed you,

your parents across many seas, oceans,

and deserts; entertain them with strong drink

 

and soft food: rice, yams, bananas, the ever

present rum to bless the hands that have lifted

you up, and sanctified the place you now call home.

 

 

 

Roots

eh yu,

yu likkle red kin bwai

ah talkin to yu

yu dat doan know nothin;

i rememba when yu used to

eat korn flakes fa brekfas,

chicken bres fa lunch,

steak fa suppa, an me

bush tea fa brekfas

pipe water fa lunch

red herring an stale bread,

if me was lucky, fa supper,

an den nat even a pilla.

de only comfort was kaya

mattress, me share wid me bredda

mi sista, mi cousin (later dem say

was mi sista), an mi sista half-sista

later dem say was mi niece),

yu dat neva know how it feel

when de chinee woman a de grocery

store draw way har han like me have disease,

yu look chinee too

fa yu look like yu mada

neva know wha side a de bed

she an yu was gwane fall,

and my own mada, out before

first light, back before the night breeze

lay down pon de grass, har two han

too tired fe even liff de spoon to har mout

much less fe hole me face,

yu dat neva know

how it feel wen smady pint

an sey, “look, das yu fada,

pants seam sharp like gillette

shut white like dry spit

black patent leather shoes stomping

pon the cricket oval,”

yu dat neva know

granny fiah stick me tink wud neva

go out, antie nerve tea dat stink up

me nose hole like de nasty claat

she put pon ar foot fa sugar,

yu doan know dese tings

yu jus stan up dey

an waan pass off yuself

as a real jamaican.