Junkanoo bird eye view
Junkanoo in my bones;
In my eyes,
lone colours
pouring slow like molasses
from the throat
of Bay street
and we
the masses,
we jus’ inhaling
this kiss.
This spirit.
Wailing,
we invite
the parade
like a complicit woman to her womb,
consumed
in the illicit night shade.
Emerging out
from Vendue house,
from a shadow-
from da Congo-
A boy beats a goatskin drum
Like we still fightin for freedom
We are.
Moving like mist,
The dance past parliament-
The black masses darkenin’
her pink colonial frills
with queen Elizabeth in stone,
still holding court-
A statue
to
rule
Us.
And da crowd sings!
‘Da Saxon!’; ‘Da Valley!’
I hear one lady say
‘Rawson carryin
on!’
Dis beat was sweet.
And this one dancer,
Boy he was giratin’,
Drippin’ rum-flavour sweat
into the sea.
The crowd was punctuatin
His complex footsteps,
The parade penetratin-
Deep deep
Like history,
Down the Middle Passage
of east Bay Street
by Naya Fyah
