kairi
Land of the Hummingbird
“Trinidad”
16th Century
The scarlet-bright cloud of birds skim over the mangroves of Caroni Swamp and we drop onto grassland at the edge of it. We stare at each other, shaken by sudden distrust and animosity. Skelele is a Spanish mariner, and I am a “Carib” young woman, our two hummingbirds fizzing with anger around us. In the remnants of our sky minds we can still see the pirates’ and conquistadors’ ships in the bay of “Port of Spain,” and their rough faces dreaming of the “Lost City of Gold.” Their lies of searching for El Dorado hang in the air like the stench of their breath, his breath, this is not Skelele.
In each other’s eyes we can see the colour of rape — thatched houses burning in Arima, women fleeing.
Attack each other or dive — as soon as we hit the swamp water, the scarlet ibis swarm from their perch and cluster over us in a red blanket. Hahom. Their blessed brilliance shines through the dark water, swiftly leading us out of the maze. Misericordia.
Where the river water meets the choppy brown waves of the sea, the ibis’ blanket suddenly halts, catapulting us forward into the brown,
turning green
waters
turning
rising into
the mouth of a water demon.
Sucking us into its dragon mouth past teeth of rock-island Bocas, it rears up, shaking ships off its back. Chacachacare.18
We slosh, petrified in the dark, liquid belly of the dragon. A devil fish ray swirls around us, its tail circling. We remember, shoot our fin-hands up and grab the prongs of our invisible trident. It works! A golden light shoots from it and strikes the ray’s tail into a gold lasso. It cinches us, pulling us zigzaggedly through the dragon’s throat, scraping past the devil’s saw, a long sharp reef, toward the light and sky of an open mouth.