The Saints. Meet Lena.

The Saints are

A little patch of Defiant beauty.= Perseverance. 

Maybe it’s age..the sense of seasons passing. 

Unnoticed, now noticed.

My Mammy Cochrane :great grandmother, was my bestie at 98 years old and me five. We played with dolls, brushed our hair and whispered sweet nothings to each other. She was love. Faculties intact she went to sleep a sleeping beauty a few months short of a century.

A Grenadian born immigrant to Trinidad &Tobago she reared a tribe of women who I’m one of.

May, Rita, Clemmy and Stella. Her daughters.

Unfortunately they all died before I grew some common sense ( 20's) to know more of their stories.

A heritage I now scramble to unfurl, reval, just find.

"I wish I wish with all my heart..." Wonder twins activate.

No one Talks and no one knows our history and as I pry, cajole, dig ,I irritate, close and shut doors.

I don’t really know where I come form.

Carib. Venezuela African : The Orinoco river which flows from the depths of the amazon runs through my veins.

Mild stories wafted over roasting corn on coal pots .Humid nights. Crapo croaking

The secrets went with them.

I have no baby pictures.

We get didsplaced and remain in limbo 

.

Except for my Saint.

“In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.

And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, there’s something stronger – something better, pushing right back.” Albert Camus.