Category: PREE 10

The School Takeover

Ms. Charlmagne sucked her teeth loud drawing the attention of the other teachers. She didn’t care. They’d been eyeballing her the moment she started teaching at Priscilla Prescod Memorial School with her tight-up skirts and long weaves that she let fall down her back like a white woman or one of dem chabine girls. But she was good at math. That’s why they hired her.

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Rhythmless & Sweaty in Kingston

I think about my upbringing and how I was not raised in the part of Kingston where the legendary aspects of Jamaican culture were born and built. If we are being geographically specific, I am really not from Kingston at all. I can trace my upbringing to the 5-kilometre bubble in St. Andrew where language is policed, appearances are judged…

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Looking for Lagahoos

Jane Jr. thinks she has escaped but she hasn’t. She joins a colony of people like us, plastic people who inject smiles into their mouths and their cheeks. She takes pictures in flitting white linens and wide-brimmed hats and posts them to social media. Her partner does not hit her with his fist, or hit her at all, she says on the phone to Jane, while she applies the powder extra-thick below her eye.

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Rest in Power

GEOFFREY PHILP For Scratch Filing past to offer respect to the remains of the giant who slept in a casket so small you would have thought it was built for a child still dressed in his red schoolboy cap and rings that bedazzled...

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Basin Tanka, From Memory

AMARA AMARYAH 1 you are medicine. you tell me, my head weighed down water dripping slick paths down my neck. i inhale, squint eyes, resemble someone 2 with dainty palms you weave strands back to their wildness detangling, i...

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Preludes

Did you know Raymond Chandler lived here in Forest Hill? he asked. I grinned because he remembered Chandler was one of my favourite writers. Suddenly it felt good to be in a car driving along unfamiliar roads with a friend. It was early evening, chilly but not too much, and we saw trees that had turned red, orange and gold. We saw blackbirds on fences, and pigeons on old buildings. There were houses and gardens and libraries and museums.

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Back Bush

I stepped inside, the aroma of the air filling my flared nostrils; it was a combination of mangoes, something floral like perfume, and a dash of myrrh. I walked through the house under the warm orange glow and watched as you threw your heels off your feet, and our heights equalised. You unclipped parts of your pink wig and reached for the zipper at the back of your dress.

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Two Poems

KEVIN REIGH black apollo / head cornerstone I remember the blistered petal whispers of your lisp a slingshot seeking the smoothest stones a sniper peaking out from a parapet your slick words and syllables thick with the sulfur...

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PREE 10

FICTION

Passover
DWIGHT THOMPSON

Looking for Lagahoos
LYNDON NICHOLAS

The Vagrant, the Ring and the Pothound
KIRK BUDHOORAM

Don’t Go Under the Coconut Tree
LUKE ELLIOTT

Back Bush
KAMSI ARCHIPLEY

Peter 3:15
RACHELLE J. GRAY

Preludes
ANDRE BAGOO

NON-FICTION

Rhythmless & Sweaty in Kingston  
DANA FLETCHER

POETRY

Basin Tanka, From Memory
AMARA AMARYAH

Two Poems
ANIKA CHRISTOPHER

Rest in Power
GEOFFREY PHILP

Three poems
JUSTIN HAYNES

Two Poems
KEVIN REIGH

No Gods
NIGEL ASSAM

Ablution
KAY-ANN HENRY

PREE SHORTIES

Urban Portal: From dem time to NOW
GICELLE MAGLOIRE

Muffler burn
KAY-ANN HENRY

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