On some of life’s ironies

Sometimes you meet someone in life and logistically, it’s all wrong:

  • They just had a baby (literally — like less than twelve months ago) with an ex
  • They are yet to be able to procure a visa from the US embassy in POS; you, for the most part, at present, live large chunks of your life in any given year outside of Trinidad
  • They’re direct, you’re sometimes convoluted
  • They’re “traditional” about many issues,  you’re a feminist
  • They have dabbled in illegal activities; you — well, (mainly) don’t, (at least not anything that will get one featured on Crime Watch)

But yet, but yet, something happens whenever you converge because it feels like a meeting of two spirits who already know each other and you’re not certain how that’s possible. You sometimes feel as though you speak different languages but you get each other completely.

There are many times I feel like a dragon, scrambling to unfurl my own wings and foraging for love — all clumsy on land, ridge-backed and speckled and horned and not pretty enough, getting burnt by other people’s fire in the process. This will be a loving friendship in the end, I think, and all I know is that this person makes me feel acutely aware of mental and emotional nerve-endings, as though my mind is this dripping, sensual space (which it is, apparently); and I get gobsmacked because all I might be hearing is simply how it’s raining on The Island on this cool evening and the poetry I hear is clunky, like I am sometimes, yet invigorating — on phonecard calls that inevitably run out from outside a bar in St. James, between the back-fire of a souped up Super Saloon or in the hush of a darkened front porch.

It is filled with hustling stories, sharpened edges, quiet reflection, surprising humour and fierce loyalty. It is poetry that fills me with a reminder that we are alive, upright ticking time-bombs and people are always struggling and loving and fighting to survive in this life. It is most beautiful at just pledging this quiet devotion to me, my happiness — wherever I might find it and with whomever.  It is an open, chafed hand saying, what do you need in this instant? I would do anything for you. Anything.

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