poem draft : hearing the call

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
…

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

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

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

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.

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

poem : invocation

distant voice heard at the corner
blame it on the wind
front door blown open
can’t keep accusing the weather

giggles behind you
the spirit in you knows
Eshu must be fed first

hungry as a child
bring some candy

mischevious man
pour rum in gulps at any crossroads

old now
light his cigars


omi tutu, axé tutu, onã tutu, ilê tutu, tutu Laroyê 1


quick now, keep up
Eshu works all corners, all doors, all paths
pour palm oil greedily
wherever two streets come together

and if you are lucky
days later
your dream will have you in the kitchen making café
walking out with small white cups of espresso
while Eshu runs between your steps

there is a party happening tonight
and Eshu is happy about it, has come early

look down
grab a hold of him
marvel at his wild face near yours
love the wilderness living within him
let him wrap his legs around your waist
let him hug you hard
his hand possessively at your neck, fingers in your hair

if Eshu is with you none are against

welcome Elegua welcome


1 fresh water, the spirit is fresh, the way is fresh, the home is fresh, Eshu is fresh.