Every Sunday, I would go to church then eat the lunch daddy cooked for us. Often, it would be an elaborate spread of baked chicken, callaloo, rice, a pie of some sort and provision. The house would smell amazing. All the windows and doors would be open so the scent flowed freely through the house, even after everyone had their fill and was settling in for a lazy afternoon.
Unlike everyone else, I could never sleep though. I’d make my bed so the sheet was stretched over the mattress smoothly, I’d lay back and look up through the window. Often, I caught a light blue, cloudless sky. I’d try to position myself so the neighbor’s trees didn’t distract me from the pure swatch of sky I was admiring. And I’d enjoy the cool breeze and warm air that alighted on my face.
Even years before I’d ever considered leaving home, I knew this was a moment I should cherish. As though one day things wouldn’t be so simple. With this piece, I imagine sitting over the edge of the basket and looking out at the one patch of sky that’s just blue. I’d look past the mountains, the waters, and I’d get lost in the peaceful nostalgia of Sunday afternoons in Grenada.
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