My Mimi

She remembers the time they were just called
subjects in 1950
A resident of the Bahama Islands, yet she longed
for more.
Longed to somehow belong
Belong to a place she called home
A place they all called theirs.
She remembers the stories her mother told
The stories of when her ancestors were sold
She cried as she imagined the rhythm of blows
they had to endure
Just to be free
Just to call this place their own.
She remembers the painting and creating of signs
as she prepared to walk the streets of Burma Road
Eager to be seen as human
To be seen as equal.
She remembers dreaming of becoming something
more than just a domestic worker
Wasting in poverty as her child’s future began to
reflect hers.
She remembers feeling the culture behind the
woven baskets her grammy made
While she sat there eager to see her second mom
finally being paid.
She feels the joy dancing through the wind as her
country gains their freedom
Their own name
They lived so we could gain.
She remembers no longer being a subject, but a
citizen of her home
A Bahamian
Finally independent and free.
She remembers the plethora of emotions she
experienced as her country was first called The
Commonwealth of The Bahamas
It surreal; but she remembers
She remembers because she told it all to me.
She remembers dreaming of seeing her country’s
50th birthday
It’s here now, no longer a dream but a reality
She’s finally independent and free.
She’s a Bahamian; a resident of her country.
She’s my grammy