Gunga peas calypso
Madly
in my cooking pot
gradually I pour canned coconut milk
into the swirling flavors
of cilantro, garlic and onions
 

Staring into the rich brown stew
I can see my Mother grating
coconut meat and hand squeezing
the milk like teats from a cow
(Too much work for me)
creating a traditional coconut rice and peas
dish
 

She was raised on a farm in St. Elizabeth,
Jamaica
early hours, rugged, hard labor were natural
for the family which included nine siblings
Pauline was a kind big hearted Soul
with ample soft bosom
perfect for children
to lay their heads upon
and skin that always seemed
to smell of curry
 

Burnt sienna Indian complexion
wavy black river hair
and colorful patois accent
painted a portrait
cavorting over the dandy, rolling
goat hooved hills of
Jamaican village peasantry
 

The Moravian church of England formed
beliefs woven inextricably through
the fabric of her simplistic
innocent existence
our Mom instilled a love of
God in us that was pure and hearty

"Sonya stop your daydreaming"
my Mother's clarion voice interrupts
my avid reverie

"Bumba!" I cry aloud
"I haven't had bammy in eons"

Quickly my fingers Google
Another tasty native recipe

chock full of memories
and cassava root