Nicholas Damion Alexander Poetry


AUGUST 17, 2011 • ( 0 )
by Nicholas Damion Alexander
copyright 2011
My mother cooked with salt,
flavoring our lives
with the spice of her choice . . .
A white grain from the sea
that added new worlds of taste
to children made of mixed spices.
My father loved his pepper
heating up her pot
with its red flames,
that little masculine bulb
men use to show bravado
about nothing.
We ate of Mother’s salt
all of our lives till we grew
old enough to insist
she travel to the sea
of her spice, away
from the red heat
of our father’s pepper.
Today, fifteen years on
my mother has stopped
cooking with that spice
as white as my father’s skin.
And we have grown accustomed
to his hot spice,
hardly remembering
her love for little white grains
drawn from the sea.


Note: Nicholas Damion Alexander is a teacher at Wolmen’s Boys’ School in Jamaica. He has been published in The Gleaner, The Observer, Carribean Voice, So Much Things To Say, Poets Against War, Auckland Poetry, Angel Fire, Mr. Africa Poetry Lounge, and the Black Collegian.
You can find his blog at:

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