Sunday Seeds

Mustard Seed Sun
Amassing my midday sky
With a warmth
Spreading across skins,
Sasso-borro Brown
As they might be,
Pelo a causa de mi
Identidad Negra.
This Caribbean sun flavours
My thoughts,
Swizzle-sitcked and stamped
To my source
As these moments start traveling
Beyond yellow-walled boundaries
Of this bedroom,
Bounded by mummy’s Sunday food,
That traps some of my senses back here,
Black hair, twisting madly
Into brown ends,
Brown bends of my body,
Stretched across this bed,
Outside light strapped across my forehead,
For to spend just two more minutes
Soaking in my laziness,
Would only make me
Miss another Sunday…