I remember the diligence with which you shaped
tops that spun us into delight,
the care with which you crafted kites
that set us soaring.
I remember you bringing us
cashew nuts from your love of the land
when we were unable or unwilling to
accompany you to the farm.
I remember you deliberately leaving
food on your plate when we stared
in greed upon your supper like a hawk a prey,
waiting to pounce on the remains.
I remember your smile, pregnant with patience,
forbearance and affection, shining down upon a
little boy, otherwise lost.
I remember the hard times. The times
your sewing machine chewed away the night,
you buried in cloth trimmings,
chalk and cloth dust, and piles of cloth waiting
impatiently for your hands to fashion; and all the
while, we, without a care, oblivious to
the bread and stone struggle you were waging
with only thread and needle as your weapon,
kept bombarding you with trifles: “Daddy he
is calling me name,” “Daddy he is looking at me
big-eye,” “Daddy he hit me first,” “Daddy
he stole my marbles.” But still you took time
off to settle the peace, to give right
where right belonged and wrong where it belonged.
I remember those days. Those days when sleep
was a luxury you could not afford, not when
eight insatiable mouths opened with a question mark.
Yes, I remember. I remember the banana carrying days.
The days when we left home in the dark
and returned in the dark,
the days of crossing raging rivers,
climbing hills, descending valleys,
with our precious cargo, the family’s lifeblood,
making grooves in our heads, but always returning
for yet another load, even when
our feet said, “we cannot take another step,”
our necks said, “we cannot support not even
one more feather.” Hard times, yes,
but we were together, you leading the way.
Pleasant memories these hard times have become.
I remember. I remember, big Christmas Day, you
sawing away, building hives for bees,
to build a nest for us. I remember.
I remember this one morning, the morning at
New Dock Beach, when the sea had done swallow
my sister and a friend of the family
in a hole made by a boat that had come
too close to shore, and you, with no hesitation,
searched the bottom of the ocean for what
to me were many lifetimes and brought up the
friend of the family and then my sister,
like Lazarus from the grave; if you had
hesitated for one moment, the sea
would have claimed them forever.
Yes, I remember. I remember that day we were
fishing on The Dock, when a friend asked you,
“would you give your life to save any of
your children?” and before you had answered
“of course,” I already knew the answer,
because I remembered the morning on New Dock Beach,
the morning that, if not for you, my sister
would not have returned like Lazarus from the grave,
or Jonah from the fish’s belly.
Yes, I remember, the small things, the small things
that tell it all, that accounts for all of me.
I remember.
From the memoir, My Father Is No Longer There
Related Links
An Interview with Dr. Anderson Reynolds
The Vieux Fort Launch of My Father Is No Longer There
