Catherine Esther Cowie is a 2017 Callaloo Writing Workshop graduate. Her work has appeared in The Penn Review, Moko Magazine: Caribbean Arts and Letters and Forklift Ohio. Currently, she resides in Kenosha, Wisconsin.
As a consequence of my father following a voice in his head
we each lose an eye. Our feathers wither,
litter the dark apartment floor with greens,
reds and blues, we stuff into shoe boxes.
We grow fur, silky black
against the dirt white winter. Here, no one
can understand our tongues’ song,
we speak slower, afraid
of being called what we are.
Television teaches us how to sound
Canadian, a canola field, ironed flat.
Afraid to lose anything else,
we weave our dreams together:
our house overcrowded with sunlight,
the sea cresting our nostrils and tongues.
In summer, we visit a lake up north
as blue as Pigeon Island beach,
set our bodies afloat.