NADINE TOMLINSON
The Haunted Sea
Guabancex is still vexed.
Her general, Hurakan, waits to unleash Her command
over the wretched paths the slave ships sailed.
She says their names, the abducted Africans.
She recalls those in chains who chose freedom in Olokun’s abode.
She recalls those thrown alive from the Zong, whom He carried home.
Duppies roaming floors of the warming sea
as black gold weights the waves above their moaning.
When Gilbert hatched over our hapless heads,
I didn’t know how to hear names in that storm.
Now, I must learn fast as present greets past
in the tragedy of the choking sea.
I’m vexed,
so I join those who are fighting for earth’s rights.
Dangerous Disturbances
De big Cuban tree frog yeye dem and mine make four.
To be frank, I not sure who frighten more, him or me.
What a dilemma, when I want to make water!
Dis brown, bumpy trespasser yeye dem asking what’s de matter.
I holler fi Matilda, mi wife, and slam down de toilet bowl cover.
Coo yah! Mi trial not dying fast enough.
Just yesterday, Matilda and me was in de backyard,
she, pouring slurries of syrup, white sugar, and water
into small plastic bowls, long twigs in dem like ladder,
fi help bring back hungry bees dat survive de hurricane last year,
me, checking de young banana plants
since de mature ones did fly away to glory,
when me buck up mussi de frog cousin
itch on to one o’ de leaves,
colour change like lizard to rahtid,
as green as envy and badmind.
De Cuban tree frogs did arrive here like carry-go-bring-come
after dat summer hurricane two years ago.
Y’know de storm dat have de same name as mi auntie
(God rest de dead)
who always used to chuckle and answer, “Is good luck.”
when fass people asked her why she never tie de knot.
And just like bring-come-carry-go,
de frogs drop misery wherever dem hop.
Matilda and me get to understand from Mabel, our wash belly,
how dangerous dem disturbance is fi wi native species,
which we losing one by one to odda invaders like
de white-tail deer people bring in de ‘80s,
all kinda frogs, birds, worms, fish, and insects,
and drought seasons going up like light and water bills,
de heat gulping down water in rivers and swamps
and “displacing the number of dwindling” crocodiles.
Mabel mek us know dat some of our species so special
dat dem can ongle be found in dis land of wood and water.
If all a dem become extinct, nuh we next pon de list?
Me nah lie, me fraid o’ de damage de climate crisis causing
more dan de big crocodile dat me, Jacob, and Fergie
did rescue from de five fool-fool bwoy who did waan kill him.
Dem nuh have a drop o’ sense dat de Almighty give mi donkey.
Mi anxiety deh pon rooftop since Mabel did tell we ‘bout
an activist from Bonaire who said de island would disappear
in thirty years’ time de way how de seas been rising.
De clock been striking from before Whappie ketch Phillup!
Me nuh like dis rocky boat dat we in de Caribbean
and de res’ o’ small islands elsewhere find wiself in.
De big Cuban tree frog never stand a chance wid Matilda.
She get him out two-twos and deal wid him proper
before me could seh feh to him from behind her.
Mi dilemma was over before I finish make water.
I wish de climate crisis could solve so easy.
Mabel, come tell we more ‘bout dis climate resiliency.
