Sad Song of Plantain poem

The Sad Song Of Plantain
I lie as quiet as death in this
‘three for two pounds’ cardboard box.
Too black with skin too thick.
Inside I am unblemished
and can still provide a sweet hit
on any savoury meal. I remember
coming across from Kade packed tightly
with my kin to this foreign land.
The box opened to my curved body for sale
but the touch of customers led nowhere.
Their handling brought bruising
and more bruising but in this box
I stayed discounted and ignored.
My ripeness uneventful, other plantains
came and went as I dreamt about Kade.
If I could only get back to its fertile soil
even now I could root, I could shoot,
I could bloom, but the bright order of hope
is fading in my dry and blotchy skin,
and already the varnished smell of rot
is erasing every dream I’ve already forgotten.

Roger Robinson
Roger Robinson is an award-winning writer and performer from Trinidad now living in Britain.
WritersMosaic monthly
Get new writing in your inbox
One email monthly, unsubscribe anytime
Ladies of the Rachmaninoff Eyes
The impact of space between what is happening on and off the page
On Snow
'The mind inevitably seeks a reenactment of the teal light I associate with home'
It’s being published I get paid for; the writing I would do for free
‘Any advance [...] for your novel is to compensate you for the horrors of being published'
On Becoming a Guinea Fowl
A sharp, layered study of patriarchal privilege
The Story
A propulsive play centered on a black-run section of a mainstream newspaper
Some Sacred Harbour
As much a book of joy as of anger
Illuminating, in-depth conversations between writers.
Listen to all episodes
SpotifyApple Podcasts
Amazon Music
YouTube
Other apps
The series that tells the true-life stories of migration to the UK.
Listen to all episodes
SpotifyApple Podcasts
Amazon Music
YouTube
Other apps
In this second series of poems commissioned by Hannah Lowe, six poets explore the theme of surveillance.
Listen to all episodes
SpotifyApple Podcasts
YouTube











