On Returning Home To Nana’s

a small hair sprouts

defying the odds

bursting through the surface

only to crinkle and bend

like palm trees in the wind

coconut oil eases the shaft

from root to ends

smooth, dipping my curls

into the Atlantic

becoming one with the island

and the wave

and the nappiness

of my kitchen

the way she might have as a child on family vacations

her thick black locs hang

like freedom

and nooses

and mangoes

strong and sweet as sugarcane

standing up

resisting gravity

and the box that bottles beauty

Untitled Cove

cold salt sinks into brown skin

babies laugh, and fall in

the sun perches on top of fat clouds


blink back the heat from the shade

barbecue and merengue

drift with the wind

high  tide begins


the waves crash into the cove