Where I’m from

I am from a cup of tea,

From milk  and sugar.

I am from the wooden doors my father made by hand, tall, strong, glossy.

I am from the figs growing on concrete,

And the spinach growing on wood.

I am from eggnog on christmas

And round faces,

From uncle sunny

and ivy lynn and gertrude.

I am from the loud conversation 

And vague descriptions .

From big feet

and long legs.

I am from good intentions.

From listening to understand and not listening to respond.

I’m from the city that never sleeps and the sweet island of Jamaica,

Salt fish, ackee and breadfruit.

From my parents who moved from warm tropics to winter snow,

The coconut water turned soda,

And fresh fruit turned canned.

I am from the photobook on the nightstand with Jamaican dollars used as bookmarks.

One thought on “Where I’m from

  1. Monique, your entire poem painted a beautiful vivid description of home and the people there. I can relate to the last few lines of the poem as well, the lifestyle changes that either we or our parents experienced when moving to a new country.

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