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Kita viciously yanked her disposable mask off as she crossed the parking lot, scouting for her sister. She turned her face skyward, wincing momentarily as the pointed rays of the blazing sun poked her in the eyes.
- The Fisherman
Moise sat on the rock, his fishing line trailing beneath the surface of the water. The sea was calm this morning but he had caught nothing, although he had been sitting out since four thirty.
His name is not there. Jalecia huffs on her frozen fingers as she reads the eight names beside buzzers, from top down again, and from bottom back up – as if that would make his appear.
John Robert Lee (JRL): You were born in Trinidad with its rich literary tradition. You grew up in the British Virgin Islands with not as rich a tradition. What have been the influences that led you into writing, and poetry at that?
“Why the hell have I never read the work of this Vincentian poet before?”
In “Wordplanting”, the title poem of Kendel Hippolyte’s latest collection, we read: “this poem will soon end / and its true usefulness begin / After its last word, resolve, to place, with care, / a seed, a bulb, a branch / into a clay pot, old jug, / whatever holds handfuls of di
Witness in Stone is reminiscent of intricately wrought but imposing stone structure, even as it testifies to the apparently commonplace -a young man on a bicycle, a playful encounter with a grandchild, a walk along a country road at dawn, all rendered in a m
23rd Frank Collymore Literary Endowment (FCLE) Awards Ceremony, Barbados, February 2021
Ladies and Gentlemen, fellow writers and readers
It is a pleasure and honour to welcome to the BIM November issue a contribution by The Right Honourable Mia Amor Mottley M.P; Q.C., our first female Prime Minister of Barbados.
St. Peter’s Parish Church, Friday, August 14, 2020
There is a refrain from a moving Gladys Knight song that lingers in the back of my mind whenever I think of Owen Arthur:
Something else is new! For the very first time, we are introducing original musical compositions as part of the magazine's content. Readers will be entertained in this issue by a jazzy piece entitled 'Still There' its lyrics by Linda M. Deane, a regular contributor to BIM.
I am on the other side
of your time, dearest fellow
travelers of the African diaspora.
With my black eyes, like Osiris,
I’m trying to read the burnt,
pitted skins charred by the laws
of the Set of your world
who cuts his kin down
When you wake up, darling,
know that your dream was not hacked.
The unsmiling man wrapped in the stars
and stripes is a professional magician.
He builds intricate spiderwebs and lobster
traps to shield his future with carcasses.
We live in an extraordinary moment. One in which many cross currents tussle for sustained dominance. A moment in which armed white supremacy groups make attempts to take over state legislative offices in states like Michigan.
Aunque su sueño era lanzarte al Mississippi,
aquel caníbal de uniforme opaco
ha quemado en silencio su rodilla
sobre tu cuello inerte.
El humo de tu carne va subiendo hasta el cielo mojado.
Saltando entre las flores, el aire de tus bronquios
Translated by Keith Ellis
Though he really wanted to hurl you into the Mississippi,
that cannibal in deceptive uniform
quietly burned his knee
on your dying throat.
The smoke rising from your flesh climbs to the tearful sky.
(in memory of George Floyd, killed in Minnesota, USA,
by a white police officer, May 25, 2020
He called for Momma, and every momma of every race:
black, white, asian, hispanic, native-american,
rose up to answer the call. But one outran them all:
Me in the Caribbean, he in a US state,
my son calls home and tries hard to make light
of disturbing current affairs—
tells me things ain’t as bad as they seem.
He says, It’s just anOther Carnival Mum,
this time folks masquerading fear as hate and