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.
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.