Land Where My Mother Lived
Belize was where her father chose to live.
She was his one offspring, and he, a businessman.
His grocery store/saloon always bustling,
Attention getting womanizer, he pulled her early from school.
She was young, hardworking, and loved law and order -
Belize was where she wedded and lived, but
The Island of Jamaica, West Indies haunted her.
Years later, her papa sold shop and flew back -
Back to his birth home without his own
She begged and begged when the husband lost his head.
Grandpa's letter read,"...you can return, but leave the children."
St. John's primary in the City of Belize knew five Sankeys,
St. Hilda's, plus St. Michael's, knew one of two.
The United States of America saw papa the day he flew -
I've been naturalized in the U.S. because of my father.
Now, at seventy-two I think of home:
The land where my mother lived,
The land where her bones lay silent.
I was twenty-two when I first flew from home,
But home is more the U.S. of A
I want to go home for good, but I'm fused between two.
Meanwhile!
I've been at wrestling with myself,
Or is it host of material things?
I love sunshine and rain, and Carib' Sea breeze.
I love piano melodies with chords streaming,
Like zinc rooftop echoing rain songs.
So, I've been scanning every space of
A three-bedroom home, filled with memories -
My father's folks heaped us with lingering gifts:
Furnishings given by three aunts,
Each room bear their fingerprint... on things, and
Sale has never been my thing -
The obligatory purging that comes with moving,
My cat, the husband, and me,
Could I find more solace at home?
Belize is a flower called, forget-me-not.
But...
What if my dwelling is far from sea?
Would I long for Corozal?
What if my U.S. born husband get homesick?
Would we become frequent flyer?
What if gravalicious folks puncture our happy balloon?
Would we rise above and sack gloom?
What if the very church we rely on let us down?
Would we seek new grounds?
What if the bank we bank on fail us?
Would we hold fast to what's left of faith?
What if hurricanes tear us asunder?
Would we pack up and reenter "The States?"
What if, what if, what if ...
Yet!
To be buried in the land of my birth,
My mother's bones lay wait nearby.
To have family reunion with my father's folks,
My mother's last child and her children will appear.
To return to the church my mother attended,
Like pillar, her spirit will be felt.
To visit sites from days of my youth,
Nostalgia will reign supreme.
To be of help for those in need,
My mother's voice and mine will echo in songs.
To speak her name like poetic piece,
My mother's soul will know new peace.
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Copyright ©
Iris E. S-Lewis
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