My hands buzzed at my sides. In front of me was a stout, handsome, and formidable bovine. It wore a malicious smile. My father often stretched the corners of his lips with force and bared his teeth like a dog. The bull dug his hooves into the orange dirt of the yard. My father often pierced his body into the ground with his cleats while he stood by the breadfruit tree scraping off laglee. The bull’s horns protruded out of its head and toward the steel roof. My father’s locs would look childish when he put them into two tails. They pointed toward heaven as he beat my mother’s body to hell. This beast’s tail: long, matted, and rough. But what astounded me most was not the bull that stood there, no, not that. For the beast’s bright blue hair, blue as cornflower, stuck out against the terracotta-colored yard. And underneath its fur, I saw its skin. Its skin was as dark as mine.

Published July 6, 2026
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