Dear Trindad,
It’s been a while since I last ate the Cascadura. Some, like me become strangers.
Disengaged, detached, floating, expelled, placenta. Who am I?…. [Who are] You? You are, I am.
We are . LIMBO!!!! The land of limbo. Womb, cradle, my nativity, my place of resident exile .
Oh! your forests, waters, your shining sun, Willed to me by my Father’s hands. Patriotism embraces
and haemorrhages. History and politics, complacency and complicity won’t allow me all my days
to sing in praise.
So my eyes make love to this créole Indian amerindian hybrid red-man chinee in the mirror I see.
That’s me. It all bleeds through the layers and it tastes of nothing. And some, like me, become
Strangers.
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