“Jamaica”
His feet have been sculpted
by the Jamaican land.
Smoothed and rounded
as though Jamaica
was a great river
that flowed through him.
Slowly, her current
brought him to America,
like so many before him.
His feet slid
into the foot prints
laid down before him.
And when his son was born
he held his boys feet.
And tried to mold them
into the Jamaican rhythm.
As though his fingers where springs
rolling over his son’s pebble feet.
The Fall sets into the Catskill mountains
and the air catches a cold
that Jamaica’s water never held.
Now, he crushes his soul
of his feet into shoes,
But the current of his land
still runs
into America land.
His feet have been sculpted
by the Jamaican land.
Smoothed and rounded
as though Jamaica
was a great river
that flowed through him.
Slowly, her current
brought him to America,
like so many before him.
His feet slid
into the foot prints
laid down before him.
And when his son was born
he held his boys feet.
And tried to mold them
into the Jamaican rhythm.
As though his fingers where springs
rolling over his son’s pebble feet.
The Fall sets into the Catskill mountains
and the air catches a cold
that Jamaica’s water never held.
Now, he crushes his soul
of his feet into shoes,
But the current of his land
still runs
into America land.
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