Gemelle John

Gemelle John is a poet and educator from NYC currently based in Delaware. She is an educator (Spanish) and poet who aims to implement both English and Spanish poetry in the classroom to create genuinely open, diverse, and safe spaces for all students. She hopes to expand her teaching to non-traditional settings across the world to aid those lacking agency. (Twitter -@ellieg512 / blog- poemsforpancakes.wordpress.com & newonfirst.wordpress.com)

 

Barbados , once removed

 

You know you will never live here

And it isn’t the way the plane smells like 40 different stale mouths

Or how mosquitos make your skin a brail you can’t read

The way the smell of chicken dung is always a palm on your back

The startling  softness of the pig’s skin on your fingerprints

Or the way your cousins call your voice an accent

Leaving you to wonder if there is only music

Nappy necks and solitude

In this place

And still you can’t dissolve

How granny’s living room and yours share a worn brown couch

A nose bridge

A weekend without stars

Yet the ozone shells  differently

Plantains pop for Thursday lunch

Crisp and sweet and unsure who they belong to

Bathing in pans of crusty oil

Soaking on paper towels

Sun stained tile and soursop tinted lips kiss you good afternoon

This isn’t yours

But the best of it is moving

 

 

 

 

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