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9:57am The Little Rock

Sundays are still the same, the breeze still cool, the tea still warm.

Radiance’s Songs, Sunday’s songs are still playing, dancing in the breeze with the backdrop of the parrots chatter.

Hank Locklin’s, “please help me, I’m falling…” reminding me of the men I’ve loved. The man I love that lives in the land of my birth across the wide expanse of water once assaulted by men from across the watery grave of the Atlantic,unwanted guests. The  place where the next man I love now lives, a foreigner.

The song changes, “nobody answers when I call your name.”

“What you cooking today?” in a singer’s voice, the accent of the twin island. Sunday dinna is a little less complete today.

Still the neighbor’s washing happens on the Sabbath, I think that God wants us to be as close to cleanliness as possible. Closer to Godliness. 

“look at us, after all these years together.”

Look at us, lovers…lovers of life, love, words, laughter. Lovers of things gone by and of things to come. Of those we’ve always known, of the unknown. Of questions unasked and those without answers. Of things shrouded by darkness, of things dawned by light.

The neighbor from a land not far, a foreigner but not a stranger to my lived experience in this space.  Her brother, yet another, was killed some weeks ago. She brings across some extra produce that she had gotten from a man of this land. It’s this love, this spirit of community that has kept us for so long, alive,  breathing, loving, caring. Sunday’s pot is more complete than it was when the first song played, more complete as “I’ve been trying to get over you” travels through the breeze and across to my own home.

The tea is now cool, less than its former self. Hot and steaming with essence of  honey and lime. Remedies that have passed down, medicinal lineage that we will never let go even as the world now struggles to breathe. Remedies that remind us of power in solidarity, no matter the differences. Sweet and Sour, this is the essence of our character; it has been what has kept us.

Sunday’s are still the same but I do miss the Belizean Breeze, my neighbor’s kuknat crus’, my mother’s hug and my grandmother’s laugh.

“Baby you don’t know what it’s like to love somebody the way I love you.”

“You picked a fine time to leave me Lucille”

“You gotta know when to hold ‘em”

“Promise me son not to do the things I’ve done”

Published by Dominique Noralez

Spirit. Human. Belizean. Black. Wombmxn. Agape Tributary. Youth Leader.

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