Five Poems by Karen Battoo

 

I couldn’t marry you. I’d be baked Fagri

  

 

the summer heat was stifling 

my skin was raining on its own  

even between my breasts 

 

rainy season fruit had all dried up 

i was left with afternoon cravings  

that couldn’t be quenched  

 

(relief they say would come in November)  

 

i felt the room was a floating dock  

breath couldn’t be caught  

with the pressure tightening pressure 

 

(is this what a roasting fish feels?)  

 

there is always a season for guests  

and one for pressing olive oil 

i just happened to be in the wrong one  

 

it could be fine for love  

and frogging in the med  

but one cannot be a fish all day  

 

(i have tried and I am crisping)   

 

i feel the devil grabbing me  

if this is what hell is like 

i am shedding my skin

  

 

 

Second Chance

 

 

Going back  

for a second chance 

is not easy  

It’s like putting on  

a damp bath suit  

cold to the skin 

tough to slide into 

terribly uncomfortable 

It takes a while until 

your body warms into it  

the dampness is forgotten 

and then you eventually forget  

that you ever had it off 

 

 

 

Always There

 

 

In the line down my face in the morning 

having slept too long on one side. 

In the delicate softness of the bedsheet 

wrapped around my half-clothed body. 

In the coolness of the pillow 

draped in my arms and sandwiched between my legs. 

In the light through the slats in the blinds 

that kiss my eyelids with a gentle warmth. 

In the calling of the Kiskadee 

on my balcony awaiting a ripe fruit of the day. 

 

In the beauty of every new day my love 

You are there. 

You are always there. 

 

 

 

Craving the Almost Red

 

 

Reds and greens have a sound and a taste all their own 

The maple’s shedding shade of fuchsia perpetually gets under my skin 

the way crayon colours razzle dazzle rose and electric lime 

grabbed me when I was nine 

I always felt I could eat them 

even if I couldn’t get my nails into the essence 

of what made them so irresistible, friendly, unforgettable 

 

I still crave the greens and that special shade of (almost) red 

After a delicious spring swept smoothly into a summer of greens 

you can go ahead Mother; feel free 

to turn my walking path into a riot of reds 

 

I feel the prickly edges 

the little fur on your leaves that make my hairs stand on end 

the tinge of sweetness in the air 

My eyes startled by all this coloured movement 

 

It’s a carnival! 

 

As the syrupy sap trees shed 

you lay on my lap staring up at her crown-thinned head 

while I drink in the green of your eyes 

the sound of the passing of time 

and the taste of your smile 

 

This is a celebration of life! 

 

 

Émigré 

 

I came over in a turbulent bird  

Four thousand nervous miles over open sea  

Thinking thinking of dropping out the sky  

my new cold home spired vast out of the clouds  

 

Nothing prepares you for the grey blanket  

lightless weeks lacking vitamin d  

the heater on the wall konks out every five days  

my teeth grate waiting on the breaker reset 

 

The apartment windows across the  

five-lane highway stare at me  

An egg could crack mine more easily  

It is a prison only my dry dry hand can escape  

 

Sometimes I see bright red blooms  

and I wish, wish it to be a familiar  

firecracker, croton or hibiscus  

I wilt wilt each time I realize it is not 

 

This is a land of regular fire alarms  

nobody jokes with the Monday midday testing  

as the girl in room one hundred and ten  

set it off just washing washing her hair  

 

Colourless leafless winter  

No avocado trees to scale or orange mango papayas  

The only rainbow is the graffitied angel wings  

placed for selfies in the prison courtyard  

 

My eyes hunt the essence of shark and bake and curry crab  

I only get stares here eating with my hands  

I reminisce with the bottle of Hong Wing coffee slowly  

disappearing I use it sparingly sparingly on days I feel lowest  

 

The other comfort is a piece of my mom’s fruit cake  

Double-wrapped in a ziplock bag inside my mini fridge 

from which I will eat one square inch, inch at a time  

I am nerves thinking of when the coffee and cake runs out  

 

There are no scents of freshly cut mahogany or teak  

The laminate floors are scentless against my heels  

So I walk, walk out in the green spaces savouring  

the scent of grass and pine which is almost like home  

 

Then weirdly the sun dries up the fog  

A new season brings kinder winds and warmer sneers  

The thunderstorms reveal blooms I have not seen before 

And I feel for the first time I can like this new strange, strange land

Karen Battoo is a proud Caribbeanite whose heart is shared between two small nations - St. Lucia and Trinidad & Tobago (the latter she currently calls home). With an MBA from Edinburgh Business School in Scotland, she has navigated diverse industries—from boatbuilding to architecture —and spent the last 15 years immersing herself in the world of tourism and five-star eco-hospitality. In 2024, she completed Oxford University’s Writing Poetry programme in the interest of honing her craft. A lover of service and adventure, Karen is now on a one-year sabbatical, travelling the globe and weaving her experiences into her poetry.

While her debut poetry collection is in the works, you’re just as likely to find her cross-stitching, crafting or exploring new corners of the world, all while writing about her love for nature and the stories she encounters along the way. Stay tuned for her upcoming work and follow her journey at @tropicgirlkay.