Without prompts I remember very little of my visits

to Grenada as a child. Just snippets here and

there of a hummingbird, crabs in a bucket, man-

goes and beaches; surrounded by blank spaces

and unrecognisable faces.

But I do recall a room, my room, our room: four 

walls, one window, bright light. Everything I 

should remember escapes me, but the bedspread 

clings.

Blue and pink, floral - an insignificant detail picked

up and clutched tight by the mind of my young

self.