A COMMUNITY
By Rosetta Stone
When I was small, a tiny little child
Not more than eight or nine
My sisters and I had this thought
A fervent dream we hoped would become reality
A picture of a family – our families fully grown
Not just sisters and brothers but of
Mummy and Daddy living in the same street
In a row of houses, houses occupied
Accommodated by Grandma, Grandpa
And Aunts, Uncles and Cousins too
A family community!
The way we remembered it back home
Home, back home in Jamaica
The family never lacked anything
There was always someone to step in
To take over; to love; to comfort
To wipe a falling tear, then care
Sweet care was like a running tap, it never stopped
Grandparents moved about, softy like early dew
Strong, fit, like the sun enveloping, they stepped in
Needing no instruction written on parchment
They’d been here more than once before
With ease, settled, Grandma gently rocked
The latest little bundle of joy
In the warm, soft folds of her arms
Passing on the family history
Meanwhile in fields of rich, golden brown
The chatter of surprises from young voices
Rise and fall while shadows miniaturize
Until no one has one at all and it’s left to Grandpa
To explain yet again where they’ve gone
And the secret of their return
Eyes shine and hands clap, it is clear
Grandpa is master of the show
Later, together feeling strong, they toil on
While babes sleep in hand-made cribs
And toddlers in beds that Grandpa made
Covered with soft embroidery sheets
Grandma had sewn lessons of the basic
How to sow and grow, survive in life
To live and grow old are passed on
And stored, cherished so they would never perish
I am still small, little, some say like a doll
My family and I don’t live in houses on the same road
Yet in our hearts we do!
