Mother has a way of existing in an optimum way, with perfect balance between friction and gravity, seasons, rainy or dry. When this balance is disrupted, she allows for it, like nature, like leaves swaying in the wind that allow the sunlight to dance. It is in this allowance for extreme limits, that consciousness is born, resulting in clear thinking, strong-willed mind power...mother knows best. Mother's understanding has encouraged me to experience life fully, to discern, reflect, resolve, to improve my well-being, to achieve a capacity in knowingness. I know this empirically as I felt my soul burst forth suddenly with splendour at times in the sunshine/hurricanes of my mother's love, in the mangrove swamps and rainforests of her tough love. Mother catches love in the winds and feeds me, shuts me in and protects me with her trees of discretion, perception, courage, like fauns/forest spirits, my roots lie here in her Immortelles, Poui, Palms, Almond, Frangipani, I bask in her shades of insight. The depths of mother's mind, her values/ethics extend father than the multiverses, this wordiness does no justice to and reduces the true meaning of her and of motherhood.
My abrasive mother gave me in her quietude, zone of calmness, like an unspoken agreement between mountains and plantations of cocoa, citrus, coffee, the key to unlock historical pain. As I fly my colourful ancestry, Amerindian, Sugarslave, European, Asian, in this hot climate, by her example alone I learn sacrifice, sanctification, character, truth, responsibility, fearlessness, selflessness, honesty reborn into crystallised thinking. As dense as ficus on the islands, as vast as the Caribbean Sea, no profession in life is more noble and significant than that of motherhood. Motherhood culminates in the birth of virtues, thoughts, souls, distinguished to a degree of perfection, with unconditional love. An abyss of flora, mother who spawns goodness, bouquets of perfection in the Bromeliads, Orchids, Hibiscus, Heliconias, Alamandas, Anthuriums, in the heart of a West Indian child.
Mother taught me to endure pickers of Bougainvillae, poison from the fruit of the Machineel tree, resilience, temperance in my journey, slow as Leatherback turtles, hasty as butterflies. I come into existence, I become, mosquitoes no longer bite my tough skin, my crops no longer vulnerable to grasshoppers/pests, the product of an untaught, inner dynamic negating toward helping others, learnt through mother. My anxiety subsides in mother's beauty, her pearls of wisdom intricate as corals, strong as alligators/crocodiles who pose no threat to me as I learn to fly, her order/harmony transcend into nature, into me. Mother's love is as versatile as the fauna of the forests and reefs of evolution, after many wars, exploitations, oppressions, over centuries of rape, molestation, incest, generations of settlers passing through. Mother's agony, averaged over time, stored in the bowels of the islands, brutal murders of seven, indigenous tribes, the product of a moderated, bashed mind, regenerated into the perfection of motherhood. A concoction of history's mistakes with her love has brought me into being, whole, as she ensured my independence, I flew free as Hummingbirds, Pelicans, Doves, I soared strong as Parrots, Macaws, Mockingbirds. Mother knew I had to become friends with Savannah Hawks, Bats, Blackbirds, rub shoulders with Red Howler Monkeys, the pillar and essence of family, the wisdom of mothers. Heroism in doing little things, justice in doing what is right, moderation in mediating between internal consistency, in taming my volcanic anger, the whipping of appetites.
My shrewd mother is sometimes cactus in my skin, bush medicine for my soul, aloe vera in my heart, nectar through my mind. As I drink her blend of virtues, sugarcane, pommecythere, soursop, mango, figue, passion fruit, sapodilla, the fruit of her womb, the elixir of motherhood blooms and lives on forever. Soaking through to my every cell, seeds of guava, avocado, sugarapple, pawpaw germinate, bearing fruit of angels, sinking into contentment with yam, cassava, dasheen, sweet patato, breadfruit, plantain, the grounding of a good mother. Mother, an ambrosia, blue food with bush rum, has unleashed me into being, connected, secure, audacious, direct, sincere, all wrought through dicipline.
Mother, sweet like snowcone, pigeon peas in pelau cooked with coconut milk, coocoo with callalloo leaves and okra, bitter as corailli, teaches me strength and detachment. The tasting of life, a yearning for good relations between all that exists yields a fundamental interconnectedness, creates harmony in spite of the greed of mankind. Mother imparts the art of swallowing life, saltiness with sweetness, sustainance, no Soucouyant could suck my positive energy, no Obeah/Voodoo-magic could drag me down to the dark energy of the Dirac Sea. Mami Wata would always rescue me back to wholeness, contentment, peacefulness in the many white/pink/black sands of many beaches. Mother, sews together love and hate, weaves harmony with increments of grace, makes timeless music of steelpan and tassa drums, allows me to dance a jig, limbo, mokojumbie, I aspire to greatness. Mother has intrinsically taught me a symphony between spirits that has inherently denoted fortitude, I feel fulfilled, happy.
I expound a plenitude of power, creativity, growth, freedom for which I am thankful to my mother in her imparting the mystery in suffering beyond the horizon of the Caribbean Sea to me. As I swim through sorrowful waters, waterfalls wash away my sins into the Caribbean Sea, grabbing the sunshine I become limitless. As I ponder motherhood, mother, me and the world, its entropy all subject to the thermodynamics of God, I am thankful for the world, me, mother and motherhood. I know, respect and love her, I forge on beyond space and time in the pruning of my soul, grateful for mother and hopeful for the eternity of motherhood.
Simone Galy-Laquis was born and bred in the Caribbean island of Trinidad and Tobago. At the age of sixteen she went to England to further her education. Two years later she returned to her homeland to manage one of her father's businesses. By age nineteen she fell in love and married by age twenty-one. By thirty-one she had five children. She has enjoyed writing poetry since the age of six and has three published poems. Now at forty-one she spends her free time writing. She has a collection of sixty historical and inspirational unpublished poems.
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