Tanicia Pratt

it is the earth
the lime or reddish
soil we plow for nourishment.
it is the banana & sugar cane
a sweetness that seasons
our tongues.
it is the manners
the tank you’s or excuse me’s
it is the mornin’



in Grammy’s spirit, telling you
don’t talk to da v’oman in v’hite
it is buried faiths;
Obeah, Islam, Rastafari.
it is our feet
moving on our own time
because no place is more important than the grave.
it’s the death mark on Mummy’s leg.
& the fedora Uncle Lenny does wear
because it reminds him of when
we were dependent but rich.

it is the dream
that we can be autonomous.
it is not the sea, no,
it is the sand
& the cracks we often fall in between.


The thing that made
Fyre Fest lucrative
was the dream. 

of clear waters &
palm trees – not
The Bahamas
& its people.

They do not dream of the people
nor the hands that
build their hammocks &
butter their boiled lobsters.

They dream of lush;
of gold & blue diamonds
of villas & canopies
overlooking their Paradise.

They’ve forgotten that
pirates dreamt here too
wrecking their legacy by the docks

& the Bermuda triangle
is still a mystery.

Tanicia Pratt is a millennial, Bahamian-Muslim poet based in Nassau, New Providence. Her writing naturally explores the cultural experiences of Caribbean women. She cares about human wellness, the environment, and cultural preservation. Her work has been featured in Write About Now, POUI, Transforming Spaces, NE8, and Double Dutch. Tanicia loves coffee + horror films + staying in bed on a rainy day.