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January 15, 1995.
Lately, words have been assailing me. Words like ashes, cocoyea brooms, sem, chataigne, roti, chunkaying, lepaying, washing wares. Everyday domestic words from long ago, a far-off time and place. Other words fly past me like spectres and they want something – words like gloaming, lovevine, lianas, pois-doux, zaboca, mango vere, pomme-cythere, Manzanilla, calypso, j’ouvert morning, ginga, carilee, googoonie, chuntah, calchul. Patois words and Hindi words.
Words are ghosts, ancestors on this side. They are not symbols. They are alive and sensate – full of flesh and stone and jagged edges. Word jumbies.
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