Posted in Uncategorized by gvd on July 31, 2014

“Wata” (Water)

Women walking by,

water jars and laundry

balancing pon their hot and heavy heads

in search fi di shrinking river.

Fi wash. Fi bathe. Fi drink. Fi cook.

Fi survive.

Fi stay alive.

But then now,

out of not nothing, I swear,

appears one man, pulling one dead dog,

lying pon its side,

it moves along

in perfect stillness

in a perfect straight line.

The dog’s warrior spirit

no longer hides

from its empty eyes.

They hold no lies.

It’s a scorching hot day.

The vegetables have shrunk to nothing,

and jumped in price.

One hundred Jamaican dollars

for half a pound of tomatoes,

to steam with cabbage and rice.

While man laments for “di wata truck”

with a hush and sighs.

The hog tied to the bush

turns its other cheek

to the heavenly skies.

Heat or no heat, out there in the hills

the horse and the heron stay together,

the two a dem a pair so casually,

waiting ever so patiently

for this endless drought to die.

They need not know why.

This is no joke nor no brata,

everybody needs wata.

But we nah go beg you some today,

because that’s how we stay.

Ina Vandebroek (7/30/14)


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