Memories Of Childhood
I
have so many memories of my childhood,
Each
one, so vivid and clear.
They
are like giant, but silent Mahoe trees
Dominating
the landscapes of my dreams.
Seeing
all, and yet so large
They are almost invisible.
The
recollections are almost Omni-prescient
Using prophetic words just like a mantic
Referring me back to a distant past
And showing me a far-off future
All at the same time.
And
each night I travel back to the forest,
With
bamboo leaves on the ground
Cushioning my fall, as the branch
I
was hoping to clasp on the way down
Escapes
my grasp yet again.
I
fall into the eiderdown of the bamboo
leaves
And
I am safe once more.
In
the noon of the day
We
go scrumping for mangoes
On
the farms, hanging off the sides
Of
the Blue Mountain.
Unafraid
in our arrogance,
We
think no harm can come of us.
The
farmer sees us coming yet again,
The
fifth time for the week.
He
sharpens his machete across the stone
And
looks at us in glee.
“Come,” he says with his eyes
“I
dare you to come” he stares
Hands
akimbo, cutlass blade ready to strike
He
hopes our arrogance will cease.
I
am sitting at the top of the tree.
And
I gauge how far it is to the ground.
I
am calculating how many branches I will need to swing on
To
avoid his slashing blade.
He
spies me in the tree,
He
thinks he knows the only thing I can do.
He
moves over to where he imagines I will land,
And
I busily recalculate.
We
stay motionless for an eternity.
Both
waiting for the moment to strike.
Me,
the nearest branch of the tree
And
him, wherever his machete lands.
My
young brother and my cousin shouts and run past him,
And
his blade swings in their direction.
I
know he is now distracted,
And
I make my first move to land.
I
swing to one branch going East, and he
follows.
I
catch another bough going West, and he is
lost
My
last branch
still goes West, and he is defeated.
I
land, roll forward and run in one all-encompassing move.
The
four of us just kept running
Until
Church Hill, our village came into view
By
now the poor farmer had given up the chase
He
paused under a Star Apple tree and smiled
Caught
the cool breeze as it bounced off the mountain
His
job done for another day.
And
these memories keep coming back to me
Reminding
me of who I am
I
smile as I remember My Jamaica
And
like the giant Iroko of my African Ancestors
The
Mahoe tree smiles back at me.
Copyright:
Roy Merchant 24th November 2018
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