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Excerpt from VYELLA'S SONG
For the Connor and Peters clan
They struggled up from southern towns
Where lands refused to yield potato or yam
Where getting jobs in factory towns was slow
Some came with suitcases
Brown carton boxes stuffed with
Frayed tattered remembrances of
Island cooking
Boiled fish, pigeon peas
Cracked crab and rice
From a place where their scenery was
Painted sunny
But poor
They ran from islands
Where palm trees swayed
Their wide hips to gentle windsongs
Loosed their long thick braids
To the call of hurricane winds
Those people ran to the belly of
A woman called Harlem
Where, instinctively, she knew
There likes
Their love for laughter
Their need for easy caressing
At the back of muscle tight necks
She saw her children flocking to her arms
Seeking refuge in the folds of
Her cemented skirts
And in the doorways of her ample bosom
And, she loved each one of them
Photo by Joan Stephens
Read the complete poem "Vyella's Song" in "Writing for Teens", Volume 28 No.
3, November/December 2005.
Photo: Brenda Connor-Bey and Grandfather Kempton Connor, circa 1981
See Literary Works for additional publications.
