Dreaming of Bananas
This poem begged to be written after finishing a Yin Yoga class. A lyrical and nostalgic remembrance of one's origins as a diasporic citizen through food + yoga.
At yoga class, we practice Yin—
the art of sinking into stillness
holding a shape until you reach
Your edge. The sinking, lingering, breathing and
surrendering into
What your body has to say.
*
Breathe in, breathe out.
Breathe in, breathe out.
*
Today, we are invited into
My first time hearing it called that way
Halfmoon, crescent: otherwise known as;
Except we are flat on our backs.
Slowly, mindfully, inching the toes
to one corner of the mat
finding centre-spine and bennnddding belly
toward the toes,
But not quite.
Arms reaching up and sideways
We are on the same side.
Banana shape.
*
I started dreaming about bananas...
Not the kind that I undress
and plop into the smoothie each morning—
But the other kind(s) that grow
in a different, now-foreign soil.
*
The bananas here are homogenous;
But the ones from home are interesting and memorable.
*
I am thinking of the long, lanky kind
my favourite one from the South
aptly called lanka
at least 2-3 inches longer than the regular
It has a distinctly different scent—earthier, more complex
mustard yellow skin, sweet sunset
a hue that harkens (me) back to homegrown years
When life was laborious
and food was sweet
Despite the hardships and hurts,
Still home.
Still family.
Still love.
*
The other favourite kind
is called saba—
short and stout, plump and fleshy
meaty, starchy,
tough texture
yet pillowy soft, melt-in-your-mouth
best enjoyed boiled and simmered
in caramelly sugar water
Saba in a bowl
is after my nostalgic heart
Who puts sugar with more sugar?
Filipinos, of course.
They say I have a sweet tooth.
I say, most of us do.
*
I don’t find saba or lanka at the grocery store
of the Great White North.
Instead there’s plain ones from
Mexico, Ecuador, or Guatemala.
Sister South countries on this side of the globe.
Occasionally I find plantain—
A cousin, close relative
Reminding me of how much
I am missing.
*
I am dreaming of bananas,
from a few decades past
a land once departed
a love that didn’t last
Funny how now it’s foreign
when it used to be so familiar
Now, past and present
court and call to each other
In hunger-filled whispers
only I can hear
*
I am dreaming of bananas...
Where I came from,
times were tough
yet food was plenty
It’s our way of showing love—
even when bodies were weary
and hearts empty.
*
I am dreaming of bananas...
as tongue traces the corners of my mind
lingering taste of a tropical childhood
My mouth salivates with sweet memories
of the motherland
*
It’s complicated,
yet some things stay the same
Despite the distance and difficulties,
Still home.
Still family.
Still love.
© 2022-2023 Rosalyn C. RainDancer
Subscribe to receive updates about new posts, articles, and other creative writing.
You can learn more about me and my offerings @ www.raindancerhome.com.