Sweet Callaloo by Anthony Salandy

Caribbean homes are incensed

By ovens that see all sorrow, all truth,

Long before worn black hands sit languid,

And consumed by the trivialities

Beyond island life,

Where sit as we do, around ornate tables,

Can rice and peas be seen to flow

As plantain disappears into

A fury of scotch bonnets,

Where grandad whimpers his typical hum

‘Beverly woman, bring the hot sauce’,

So lost to a bygone time,

Where women served their husbands silent,

But temerity is what I see,

From men whose enabling is generational,

Much like the sweet callaloo

That was burnt up

To the sound of calypso fever,

Drowned in dark rum

And long-gone lullabies

That lulled restless minds to sleep

In those where women dreamed of more than fecundity.

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Anthony is a mixed-race poet & writer whose work tends to focus on social inequality throughout late-modern society. Anthony's work has been published 140 times.

Twitter/Instagram: @anthony64120 https://arsalandywriter.com/ Anthony is the Co-Eic of Fahmidan Journal.