Caribbean Stories

The Slingshot in the Garden
Millicent  Graham

She used to hide her self, sweet Julie between the Green, turning till scent-ripe betrayed her 
And he would come, bearing tamarind stick, like a forked tongue in his mouth
A pocket full of pellets to sling, like lyrics
To bruise her Sun-rouge skin

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Outside Pickney

Sunday eena church
Miss Constance whisper behind the hymn book
As her brother outside son,
Whey look like him, walk een
"You know Miss Vie,"
Something always puzzle me, is how fate play strange games wid some a we.
Take mi brodder who the Bwoy come out the very dad's a him."
It always happen
Tu plenty man
Rich or poor, high or low
Meet the same drop
As if fi spite
Even when them deny it
You cut off the chile head
And put them side by side
Di one dem try to hide,
Is the spitting image.
Look at mi nephew,
The bowy fava the father can t done,
Down to the very squint in him lef eye.
Caan hide
A tell you when mi say
The pocket a no go him
A lie him lie.
It big right
For him did go deh
That's y name call.
As mi granny always seh,
Wah sweet nany goat a go run hymn belly.
What done eena  darkness must come out eena light, and something just can't hide and is a warning to man and woman alike
What you set at night time
Tan Tuddy till morning light.

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