The Flower of Kingston

Eldest daughter of the island hills 

Came into this world a flower of Kingston 

Pounded by the Caribbean sun 

Surrounded by a changed land 

With unconquerable spirit 

The Wailers in Old Bars 

Soccer with no shoes 

Chores for every child 

Factory men with dreads half your size 

A girl running circles on Jamaica farmland 

Skipping class 

With braids half-knotted

And a little overdressed.

Dresses from your grandmother 

that were patched with wear 

that looked like a soul.

Your mother, 16 herself,

When she had you. 

Too young to know how much 

She hurt you with silence 

Too blind to see the cracked bottles 

And smoke from cut rock

That surrounded her faith

And tore down maternity 

Your father, a child of Chinese and Rastafarian parents 

A tradesman

A man of conviction 

A stern protective voice that was a little too harsh for you 


From the mills that dotted your childhood 

The boats brought you, 

brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, and uncles 

Now in the dilapidated projects 

If Kingston brought a flower into this world 

Queens watered the stem that strengthens you 

A young black woman in a 3-bedroom apartment for 7 people 

Jean skirts and Reeboks 

Awkward high school photos (that I still laugh at)

Highlighted bangs and those oversized glasses

Boyfriends who did you wrong 

Parties with LL Kool J, Mobb Deep, and Aaliyah 

Cousins who DJ and supposedly “chopped it up” with B.I.G.

Fights with friends at the mall 

over who said and did what. 

But that was the place where you met him 

Him being my father 

And to you the love of your life

Now a mother yourself

Long curls, the first boy (out of five to come), 

a now and forever husband, 

And a bed and breakfast that was barely hanging on 

But the love that you spoke of filled the empty rooms 

The time goes on 

Those Brothers and sisters who 

In death, were somehow more 

But in life were friends

Now you are tired 

From this life, you lived and the life yet to come.

Troubled petal, hears this world.

Mighty with violence and despair 

Let the love spirit and joy you’ve shown me be the cure.

Let the laughter you found in despair fill every room like sunlight in the spring 

And let my children yet to come 

When they visit the motherland 

They Grasp for you, the flower of Kingston

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Turning on Gil