Blindman's Bluff - Victor D. Questel

i
Ash Wednesday
and
No one goes for cane
in this island anymore.

Ossuary VIII - Dionne Brand

Havana, Yasmine arrived one early evening,

the stem of an orange dress,

a duffle bag, limp, with no possessions

Ribs - Danielle Boodoo-Fortuné

This is not a poem about

the sound of my voice.

Underside of Knowing - Soyini Forde

Branches draped elegiac,

possessive as lovers.

Water Rushes Like Memory - Danielle Boodoo-Fortuné

Notes of evening

            play upon sand,

                        scatter dried stars

                                    from treetops.

Lines to Fanon I - Jennifer Rahim

You insisted you spoke for your time.

Well, it is now, Fanon. Like foolish masons,

we build on the sand of false hierarchies,

The Om - Lelawattee Manoo-Rahming

My Tanty used to sing/pray

evening ragas to the Earth Goddess

morning oblations to the Sun God

Texaco Oil Storage Tanks - Roger Robinson

You silver gods, with viscous black innards,
skin of iron plates and bones of steel rivets,

A Personal Dog - Vahni Capildeo

it isn't matter
isn't doesn't matter
does it compared
with what shan't
have known your
lines are all
lines of approach

Utter - Vahni Capildeo

Night drinks salt water from a bucket, draws
a sleeve from the sea, spills hand across mouth.

thirsty - Dionne Brand

This city is beauty
unbreakable and amorous as eyelids,
in the streets, pressed with fierce departures,
submerged landings,
I am innocent as thresholds
and smashed night birds, lovesick,
as empty elevators