The Island was hot! Her blood was cold!
Spaniard, French, and Afro-Indian blood iced through her veins
Her eyes green as the waters;
Her hair black as the night
The merchants came on ships to discover her sight.
To purchase her beauty; to witness her light.
Her Mother was dead! Her Father had fled, for opportunity.
Where the red, white, and blue waved in unity.
Leaving behind his seed, cold blood from different mothers.
Separated by these waves.
She awoke to a prison when the c*ck crowed.
These economic prison bars and money hungry prison guards are not balanced! She cried.
As her tears fed salt to the ocean tide.
Pregnant with poverty and a child on the way.
Abortion she pondered as she lay in dismay “I’ve done it before”, she thought.
Should I do it today?
Nay, the fetus kept growing and the child lived to play
Yet, the suns beams were not seen, never showing a ray.
And her flag colors whispered, “No choice, but to stay”
As her soul’s vocals waved back; it’s December in May!