Westmoreland Musings: An Ode to Caribbean Life in Jamaica

Cocks crowing, goats bleating.
Glorious sunrise, slow mornings.
The sounds of peace in the islands.
Freshly brewed Blue Mountain coffee.
Deep breaths, exhales gutturally audible.
Gratitude and groundedness.
Nervous system reset.

Prism of fluorescent houses.
Wooden dwellings humbly crowned with zinc, fastened by brick.
Mansions and “gyal-sions”—aspirational fortresses, hurricane-proof,
imprisoned by burglar bars.
Impoverished neighbors, richer in spirit.
Dreams arrested by poverty.

Few gain wings—fly away.
New life, new opportunities, complex realities.
Brainwashed from colonialism to capitalism.
Land of curdled milk and sugar water.
Bought the lies of “better life” than the truth of “different life.”

Poverty to pittance.
Reassurance by remittance.
Red phone cards to Skype to WhatsApp, maintaining and fortifying home connections.
Prodigal sons and daughters return, rebuilding on ancestral land.
Big house, an inspiration in the area.
One-room shack, rooted reminder of humility.

Perspiration bleeds through pores.
Precipitation floods weary eyes.
Perseverance anchors the heart.
Contentment, thy daily bread.
Gratitude abounds, fuel to continue.

Home—holy ground of reclamation, remembrance, restoration.
Rest—a birthright, not a reward.
Shapeshifting back to sacred form.
Community choir heralds the moon’s ascent.

Crickets chirping, bullfrogs croaking.
Silent moonrise, peaceful evenings.
The sounds of peace in the islands.
Freshly steeped soursop tea.
Deep breaths, exhales of peaceful satisfaction.
Gratitude and groundedness.
Nervous system regulation.