Of a woman I once knew:
she had mapped out the grid of Georgetown
in a mind suffused with memories of miscegenation,
drove a bus route sometimes
and like a human GPS
she would drive her beat up car pretty much everywhere
even in lanes overrun with those peddling
what she felt were cheap Chinee things
and women selling sapodilla
while she sucked her teeth at coolie boys
calling her sweetheart
while selling her nothing.
In those places there were no water lilies
And Homestretch avenue was still the prettiest road
And on days when she was with me
I tried to navigate
those narrow lanes
lined by bodies melting in the Caribbean sun
and rasta men around tibisiri baskets,
where Chutney was something you listened to
while it swirled around mummified caiman
smiling even in death for tourists.
she could sense my dithering,
anxious that I was,
not to mulch the crowd under my wheels.
So she grafted me to the metal beast;
Davina, it’s alrite na, push ya baady, push ya baady …
Such fine encouragement,
I felt invincible as I smiled on the narrowest road
# For a dear friend from Georgetown