Had you not violated Her shores,
the cute curl in my hair might have been stillborn…
But if you had never plagued Her soil,
my heart would have more
than just dreamed of feathers on my crown…
of shells, of rough stones and of driftwood necklaces
dancing areítos on my breast.
Some have argued that
had you not come when you did,
then an entire people would have missed
the arts and horses and blessings and gifts
birthed out of La Santa María’s belly.
I’ve tried to see things as they do,
searched for ways to celebrate your alleged good…
But there are no blessings to be found
in the murder of the Golden Flower,
in the burning of Hatuey,
in your rape of my Quisqueya.
In my dreams of Discovery,
your chicanery drowns before reaching India.
And then I miss my darling curl,
but never enough to wish you
a happy day of breath.
Note-The spring I turned nine, a family friend gifted me three books: The Little Prince, The Bull and the Golden Calabash and Other Anansi Stories, and a History of the Americas. The last title broke my heart. Before reading that book, the way everyone I knew spoke of Christopher Columbus led me to almost idolize the man. The book wasn’t very detailed, but it planted the seed of curiosity in my mind… It made me question teachers, and their somewhat guarded answers sent me searching for more… I found butchery, theft, abuse, liars in history and historians endorsing those liars… Anyway, as you probably noticed, I haven’t quite gotten over it yet.
for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ Open Link Monday
Anacaona [Golden Flower], by Elie Lescot
(countdown to the big event) giveaways will continue tomorrow…
Today, I bare my teeth at Cristobal Colón’s empty eye sockets.