Fruit of the Lemon
I wrote this poem inspired by an informative thread on Twitter that jests how people of the African diaspora / heritage have always been prepared for a pandemic, this poem is also inspired from ‘Half-Caste’ by British-Guyanese poet John Agard (2005).
I wrote this poem as a way to talk about how Black people have a “struggle mentality” and it’s embedded in culture, particularly food — blown wide open with the conversations I’ve been having about Coronavirus.
However, this can also be seen in other groups, incl. immigrants and working-class. When you talk intersectionality, that’s when things get interesting.
The poem’s title comes from the novel of the same name by the late great Andrea Levy, who wrote extensively about the Black British working-class.
Black people always
been prepared for COVID-19
what d’you mean
we always been
prepared for COVID-19
you mean
growing up as symbols of struggle,
childhoods of rice and beans
you mean hard chicken
and the red, gold and green
of cornmeal, soups and runner beans
well, in that case Black people always
been ready for Coronavirus
in fact you could say most of us
been ready for a pandemic state
since the Windrush came in 1948
explain to me how we ready for COVID-19
you mean when Grandma
bathed her children and grandchildren in Dettol
scrubbing melanin-heavy pickney clean
years and years before the COVID-19 scene
so explain to me how
we so prepared for COVID-19
tell me of when slaves made
the best of the worst edibles
hard meat, bones and gruel
and how struggle food
solfish, corned beef and bakes
became a culture-skewed stews
as we survived slavery and servitude
we’ve “struggled” since 1562
so as I physically distance from you
I know you’ll understand
why I won’t shake your hand
when I look Rona in the eye
headaches and coughs bone-dry
I remember childhood stories
of small islands, paradise lost
and when lay down to sleep
I remember struggle food
tins of God knows, sickly sweet plantain, cow foot, rice, peas and fried dumplings
subsequently I remember
melanin-heavy bodies shining clean
and when I rest, I dream of tomorrow
in the tint of La Rona’s shadow
