YVONNE WEEKES
In desperation the woman went to a nun
who gave holy water to sprinkle all ‘round
the four corners of the unfaithful husband’s
house. She did it in the shadows, moon
falling in the anguish of her dying marriage.
For good measure, she saw an obeah man,
exposing her long untouched breasts,
she stood trembling on the bathroom floor,
stepped into some muddy waters
of the bathtub, strapped a thin slice of pork
to her vagina. The jumbies screamed
in confusion. Trees bent, doubled by wind.
In cold catholic communion next morning,
black veiled, heart red with shame,
she kept these burning stories hidden
in her heart, the way Mary hid the angels’
mysterious and magic news of her son,
Jesus.
