Weeping in vain, on the moving shoulders of men,
temporary kisses and widowed promises,
drowning into decades of sin and cigarettes,
Between birth and death, happiness, and all that fails,
yet today, my daddy sings.
His song is brief; a silence so loud that nations hear
His song is black and celebrated.
He is tropical and amid daughters of heaven and earth
and I am established in his lyric.
Muse after muse, poetic agony and depression, he stretches for me
and I hear his song.
Tell Barbados that you love me, tell America that I am not lost.
You never forgot me.
You know my beginning and where I lie. You rescue me,
when I am forgotten, amid those empty shoulders of moving men and cussing mothers
who borne sisters and brothers of youth
You are my deliberate inspiration.
My coo-coo and flying fish.
My Caribbean, West Indian dream, and I weep for you
As you sing, our song...
"My Daddy Sings" has been published by The American Aesthetic, Winter 2015-2016, Volume 3