Acacia

Zib Zab Zabata

Play

Boy you just las you seed in dey

Its me turn to trow me seed

I got two dozen but more I need

Pan top me roof

me would let dem dry

If you pass doarn cut you eye

we will roast dem

Pound them

and yet them too

till me belly full

look pan poory you

I forgot how the conversation came about but the other day we were at my in-laws and I reflected on how I miss the days we use to pick cherries (the fruit of the cashew.) The cherries can be yellow or red. I remarked how juicy they always were. They were so juicy that the juice would pour down your hands – it was delicious. The juice would always stain our clothes.

(I can literally see those cherry trees loaded with yellow cherries in my great grandmother’s yard under those huge black boulders. Those boulders were huge like the ones at Stonehenge, except these boulders were black, round and on a hill overlooking the house. We always thought maybe one day an earthquake would release the boulders and smash the house into pieces.)

My mother-in-law was amazed at my experience and being a plant enthusiast she asked me to describe how the cherry tree looks.Etched in my mind was that particular experience, I could literally taste the cherries and remembered playing zib zab zabata in the dirt as a child and climbing on the roof to dry the seeds in the sun. I emailed my cousin Wayne for a picture of a cashew tree. I did not recall the cherries were actually in season; what perfect timing.

I decided to write a poem about the game we used to play.