The cold water rushed against my bare legs as I sat alone on the beach. The sky was turning a dark blue and the clouds were starting to make way for the moon. By this time, everyone was starting to pack up their things and head back towards their hut. When it was time for us to leave, I had told my Mother that I wanted to stay for a couple more minutes. A couple more minutes turned into hours and now, here I was: planning my escape from the island I once called home.
I looked out onto the island, taking in it’s essence one more time. Goodbye, home.
My life will begin soon.
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<span>My father, my instructor for the day, picked me up.</span>
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Jan 6, 2016 — I mean to suggest more fundamentally that considering African American literature and culture, and the lives of its creators and consumers,
