Gregory Gumbs
And Everytime
And everytime,
yes, everytime
I write my dear mother and father
in French St Martin
from here in the north where I reside
or a friend somewhere else in the West Indies
and I’m forced to end under the name of the island with
those few, fateful words,
French Antilles or The Dutch Antilles,
American Virgin Islands or
The British West Indies,
everytime,
yes, everytime,
a sense of shame,
a growing feeling of anger and despair.
And everytime,
yes, everytime that I travel
and have to hand over my passport at JFK or LAX,
I cringe, cringe to hear those vicious words
hurled directly into my face,
piercing my revolting mind,
breaking my heart,
especially at the Luis Munoz Marin International Airport, in San Juan
Puerto Rico where
the Puerto Rican officers check you more vigorously and suspiciously than anywhere else entering the United States.
I suppose they continually have to prove that they are capable of
protecting the borders of the beloved fatherland.
‘You’re a Dutch citizen?’ ‘You’re a French citizen?’
And everytime,
yes, everytime I nod my head in disgust,
and look away in humiliation.
yes, everytime
I write my dear mother and father
in French St Martin
from here in the north where I reside
or a friend somewhere else in the West Indies
and I’m forced to end under the name of the island with
those few, fateful words,
French Antilles or The Dutch Antilles,
American Virgin Islands or
The British West Indies,
everytime,
yes, everytime,
a sense of shame,
a growing feeling of anger and despair.
And everytime,
yes, everytime that I travel
and have to hand over my passport at JFK or LAX,
I cringe, cringe to hear those vicious words
hurled directly into my face,
piercing my revolting mind,
breaking my heart,
especially at the Luis Munoz Marin International Airport, in San Juan
Puerto Rico where
the Puerto Rican officers check you more vigorously and suspiciously than anywhere else entering the United States.
I suppose they continually have to prove that they are capable of
protecting the borders of the beloved fatherland.
‘You’re a Dutch citizen?’ ‘You’re a French citizen?’
And everytime,
yes, everytime I nod my head in disgust,
and look away in humiliation.
Page(s) 30
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