i'm still working on this one...
see how the ocean waves comes in
quietly retells how we come from
and are called back to it
tears remind us of our watery home,
the concoction of salt, mineral, fluid
where our comfort lies
for many, we are the first generation of women
allowed to be completely free
and with access to that freedom
we birth our ancestors, listen to our ancestor voices
moreso, hear our own calling and realize the voice
behind that call is our own
no longer must we mask ourselves for survival
masquerading to fit
…
Tuesday, February 07, 2012
Sunday, February 05, 2012
poem : wedding day
Oya in an aubergine dress
bare shouldered
orange jewels along its seams
flowering belt draping her hips
tied at the back in a taut knot
Oya’s eyes ablaze
something is coming, even on this day, it insists
Oya, always ready for what approaches
bare shouldered
orange jewels along its seams
flowering belt draping her hips
tied at the back in a taut knot
Oya’s eyes ablaze
something is coming, even on this day, it insists
Oya, always ready for what approaches
Saturday, February 04, 2012
poem : telegram
exile means no place is home
exile means every place has the chance serving as home
Making his way from Habana to Matanzas, Bobo sends a telegram:
PREPARE YERBA
LLEGA CABALLO
ALTO
exile means every place has the chance serving as home
Making his way from Habana to Matanzas, Bobo sends a telegram:
PREPARE YERBA
LLEGA CABALLO
ALTO
Friday, February 03, 2012
poem : dark mother
arms extended
luminous dark
the night sky
stars
markers for those pains
healed into brilliance
humid air surrounding her
radiance of waters
welcoming yemaya
yemaya, mother of fishes,
yemaya, rejoicing in oya
oya
our first and last breath
her arms forming the center of our lives
the hurricane of the world outside
oya
sheltering
luminous dark
the night sky
stars
markers for those pains
healed into brilliance
humid air surrounding her
radiance of waters
welcoming yemaya
yemaya, mother of fishes,
yemaya, rejoicing in oya
oya
our first and last breath
her arms forming the center of our lives
the hurricane of the world outside
oya
sheltering
Thursday, February 02, 2012
poem : the call
the sky was born in anticipation of our people
the sky was born for us
fresh creation
I watch birds now, communicating through movement,
look now, a flock making circles in the courtyard,
landing then skittering off again.
across the evening sky, a smaller flock approaching
joining the larger one
one bird, perched in the high trees, calls out
the sky, flaked in orange and purple
the sky, a beacon for our approach.
the sky was born for us
fresh creation
I watch birds now, communicating through movement,
look now, a flock making circles in the courtyard,
landing then skittering off again.
across the evening sky, a smaller flock approaching
joining the larger one
one bird, perched in the high trees, calls out
the sky, flaked in orange and purple
the sky, a beacon for our approach.
Wednesday, February 01, 2012
poem : a warning
sometimes it’s bears meandering through the streets
walking up sidewalks, onto porches
breaking the front door
searching
sometimes lightening bugs gathering at the second floor windows
peering in, hoping for conversation
occasionally there are ants along reeds, around puddles of water,
following each other into the house, crawling along baseboards
no matter the animal
multiples of them, seemingly out of place,
mean trouble
walking up sidewalks, onto porches
breaking the front door
searching
sometimes lightening bugs gathering at the second floor windows
peering in, hoping for conversation
occasionally there are ants along reeds, around puddles of water,
following each other into the house, crawling along baseboards
no matter the animal
multiples of them, seemingly out of place,
mean trouble
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