Image courtesy of Michael Tapp. Shared via a Creative Commons license.
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NanCEE Pilgrim
Mommy’s maiden name was Pilgrim
NanCEE Pilgrim was a holy woman
Careful! Tongue bun scalp
hit ya bop upside your head
heavy hard hot like curlin’ iron
tongue wield precise cus’ word like machete.
Make her mad, she tun quik quik mean, nasty.
After the pillage, all she say in her defense is,
“Lord forgive me!”
Still her dreams were all sanctified.
Wore them on her conscience like the visa stamped
in her 1967 Bajan passport on her way up North,
to the promise land.
She landed in Brooklyn, County of Kings.
Never knew then
Paradise would likely be lost
first step off shore.
Modesty was her custom
virtue her voodoo
humor her protection
against the world of rumors
black folk/ island folk
stow way down
below ship’s belly
where words takes on lives of their own
in the whales they sail cross river.
Seem like hope for Black folk is always under siege.
NanCEE was the dark-skinned one
Her brilliance embedded behind her deep Brown eyes.
Her Daddy black, black like too much sun
She was his first born ultra-violet bastard child
No Light skins in NanCEE’s lineage;
Pilgrim line dark ‘n sooty.
Gran made NanCEE’s brother and sisters
from family tree branch name Porter.
Sun shine bright, tall pretty hi-yellow on that side of the forest.
Shame ran in NanCEE’s blood
blue-vein deep fused to her Bajan Wolverine bones.
She was short, stumpy like dumplin’,
thick as she was comfortable.
Pretty brown plump momma bear
wolf had no sheep’s clothing—
no self-esteem yet to muffle the echo-chamber-a-rumors
black womenfolk plant like bombs in their girl children’s garden.
Tell ‘em tek each every step dainty, deliberate
Rumors whispered in supplication live life of duppy haints
Girl’s guardian angels protect them—if ever—
from that inevitable corruption.
Know fuh guard girl chile like mango tree
plant close close to the veranda on safe side of the house
All men born color-blind—
nostrils wide wide open.
Soonz they lay eyes on fruit
boyz nyah cyare if she still green,
boyz nyah cyare if she nya grow bud yet
boyz nyah cyare if she nya red yellow orange
soft sweet yet ripe wet and drippin’
Boy turn manchile quick quick quick
Knowz no time for pluckin’ like the present.
Live life like lust run free is the newborn’s condition.
Black Mommas let they boy children run outside wild like cane field fire.
Turn they back kneel down and pray—
for the sake of their girl children—
Pray boys go outside play far, fast wide
Discover durty big man games way way out
down yonder pass the gap on the North side of da house.
Pray nyah take up big cricket bat
Nyah turn back South toward nest too soon
before mango tree true ready fuh drop n give up its fruit.
Girl chile play inside wrapup in swaddling clothes
Momz, Aunts, Grandmothers spread rumor as repressant
Keep those legs closed grease Vaseline shine—
free of sun keep skin bright, light
free of bruise long as possible.
Watch! Mek sure she sit nice proper
make panty invisible.
Rub Vicks all over her chest
Slow breast fly repellent
Fend off mosquito-bite and man sickness—
leave imagination space fuh dream clean soft pretty things.
Stay ya backside inside safe!
Field high grass only make temptation
too easy ta find cane long hard brittle.
God forbid! Lay down give up all your sugar
Knowz onlyz one chance black island girl chile got
Is her reputation!
No suh, let sweet molasses girl chile
stay in a doors bake buttah pound cake
coconut sweet bread ginger sugar cake turnover.
Learn fuh cook supper cuckoo flyin’ fish pigeon peas ‘n rice
Mek ready! Boys soon come back from field
One day hungry for woman tings.
Let the girl children play together
there’s safety in numbers, marbles, jacks and baby-doll games.
Make no mistake
Don’t think NanCEE carried she shame
without she pride
No NanCEE was a proud, proud woman
Knew the outline of her worth
Could sometimes take the needle off that
vinyl ‘33 calypso chorus of old world womenfolk rumors:
Know Gran wasn’t married when she had you.
That’s why skin take on too much shadow.
Legs pox up like you born in chicken coop down by the river.
Bed-stuy Great Aunt Earl light skin own brownstone
three-floors with backyard color TV works at Macy’s.
All Nancy have is low class husband three kids
Live squash up Crown Heights 728 Classon Ave
between Prospect and St. Marks studio apartment.
Velour curtain hang separate marriage bed from
Mattress prop-up against wall in front of plastic cover couch
prop-down at dusk when bed time children.
Aunt Mars lusty, worldly sophisticate
shapely thin sexy smoke cigarettes sequin dresses
Aunt Claris, Aunt Marion Mummy Gran too quick
to remind NanCEE she too fat too black,
Fun, loving, big heart yes downright hilarious as all hell
but not quite as pretty as her brother and sisters.
NanCEE would when she could
switch out that scratch up record to play her vinyl ‘45
Put on Let Me Take You to Funky Town
Listen to her own new-brand family music
NanCEE and NorTON
made she three new brown sugah
Bajan-Yankee babies: first born girl she named Colleen;
second set twin boys they name
Brian and Bradley.
We allwe had a whole heap of nuthin’ but good times
in that Brooklyn railroad studio apartment.
Yes NanCEE deep down knew the outline of her worth
Filled it in with crayons. Painted in the bright happy colors
when she was with her children.
Taught me how to read before I was four
Me on her back she on her belly
Laid out on that prop-up prop-down mattress
in front of the black n white tin foil antenna turn channel with wire hanger TV.
She Mek sure I knew my times tables:
“Never forget Black boys mus’ work twice as hard to fulfill their dreams.”
“Black boys mus’ work twice as hard to fulfill their dreams.”
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Brad Walrond is a poet, writer, performer and activist born in Brooklyn New York to first generation Caribbean parents from Barbados. Brad began writing and performing at the age of 24 when he was asked to participate in a theatrical production curated by the legendary entertainer and activist Harry Belafonte. It was at the Tea Party at Frank’s Lounge in Brooklyn and other venues like the Brooklyn Moon Café, the Nuyorican Poets Café and numerous venues in and around NYC that Brad had the pleasure of sharing the stage with renowned writers, poets and artists including Abiodun Oyewole of the Last Poets, legendary actress/writer Ruby Dee, Erykah Badu, Saul Williams, Jessica Care Moore, Mos Def, Liza Jesse Peterson, Universes (Then: Mildred Ruiz, Stephen Sapp, Flaco Navaja and Lemon Anderson) and Craig “muMs” Grant.He also served as Assistant to the National Program Director of Pathways to Teaching Careers and as Director of Education at FACES—the historic non-profit in Harlem New York first to respond to the HIV pandemic targeting at-risk populations of color.