RE: To all Mausicans

2010-MAY-20-1925Hrs
My friends:

Each time I read the weekly update, there is the news of someone's passing on- a reminder to those left behind, to make each day count.

In the long tradition of educated people taking an active role in politics, a number of Mausicans have thrown their hats into the political ring.( Did you know that all of Africa's great leaders of the independence era were former teachers? So was Eric Wlliams too.

I wish you all well. Remember that you were educated at state expense, for free.

If you are successful, regardless of party affiliation, I hope you would help continue the tradition of free public education, for all Trinbagonians, up to the university level.

I hope too, that you would do something to inprove both the quality of education, and the active participation of students in their own education. Children have minds ,imagination and opinions, but too often, education seems to require them to sit quietly and listen to miss. I saw this as recently as 2007, when I read stories to children in an Arima school.

Here are a couple of "hello's" from my garden, where I try to make sure I spend at least half an hour, quietly, each day.

I recently completed filming for a DVD of my poetry, one of which is attached here.

Stones of Passion
I watch the diamonds sparkle in the sun,
Light bouncing off each, and together, glittering fire,
And think of Christmas.
Standing in the kitchen, we opened the box,
And he slipped it on,
His eyes closed tightly in prayer,
whispering the words of bonding, in a language I do not speak.
A binding ring, I named it ,not a ring of earthly marriage,
but we know, we are bound together by it.
I thought of the stones dancing fire on my hand,
Thirty-six little diamonds, fragments of passion,
That may have cost lives, African lives, in being wrestled from the earth.
Diamonds and gold- the precious things of the destruction of a continent.
I move the emeralds over to my right hand, my fingers splayed out,
Making room for the heavy metal band,
Female to the one he wears.
Given at Christmas, to commemorate the Birth.
Gold was one of the Three Gifts.
That King must have been the one from Africa.
Gold, a foreteller of his passion, and kingly status
Symbolizing my lovers passion, and mine.
.I hug the ring to me at nights, alone, remembering.
Linda Edwards dec.1998.

Three Modern Voices
The heavy truck, symbol of industry
Moves noisily back and forth across the wood behind my garden.
Beyond the greening trees, its heavy roar
drowns out the drone of highway traffic
heading towards the city.
Its only in its quiet moments, I can locate the hum of commute,
A distant throbbing of the earth.
Near me, under my son’s window, the AC unit roars into action, to drown out the natural feel of summer.
Its noisy vocalizations, an interruption of thought.
Together, truck and traffic, and AC form a symphony of noise
Against which modern writer tries to think.
I pick up my things and flee into the chemically cooled house,
Where the beauty of the garden can be seen through glass
and the sounds of the breeze, whispering in the trees,
and the songs of the birds, are silent.

JUST A FRIEND
“And how is the book coming, now?”
No real interest here, but a hint of derision in the voice that is usually so pleasant.
And the typewriter bothered him,
Even at the furthest part of the house, on the table, in the breakfast area, on delay print.
I was a morning noise when he wanted to sleep late after a night of TV.
And “Do you have a Bible?” ,I asked needing one for reference.
”There’s one around here, somewhere.”
I looked from high to low, but could not find it.
Later, I sent him a King James Version, Identical to the one I bought for myself-large print in a presentation case.
The next summer, there was no sign of that one, but his big family Bible was prominently displayed, but I no longer needed to check it.
And he fed stray dogs and cats with scraps of food,
encouraging them around.
but would not have a dog of his own,
though he would admit to giving mine a pat or two,
enjoyment without ownership, like our relationship.
He walked her proudly in the town, letting her out of the back of the wagon. You’d think it was his dog, they looked so good together.
You’d think I was his woman, we looked so good together.
Until, introducing me to the mayor of his town, a woman, he said “Just a friend.”
I heard in it “I’m still free, in case you choose to call on me, mayor, just a friend, you know.
I have many friends, so she should not think she’s special. Just a friend, OK? I’m still free.”
And I,I didn’t want freedom to sleep around.
A woman like me needs a sense of belonging,
Permission for sex granted in the relationship forged between two, serial monogamy.
And so, that Christmas when he came, bearing bikini underwear, that I would struggle forever to fit into, I was wearing someone else’s ring.
That bothered him.
He had been part of my family for so long.
A woman does not leave a man for another ,
She leaves him for herself.

Linda Edwards