I’m from a land of double face
to mean and say one thing
but sing another
to love one man and marry
his foil
I’m from the land of subterranean lives
Tragicomedies molded with the dark faces
of Africa
Where I’m from water spirits
love to grab little brown
toes and drag them under
the desperate call of the ocean
where I’m from is full of magick
mystical, volatile, fated spells
that whisper: malice under breaths,
pouty superstitions
I’m also from squared ranch style
bungalows perched beneath palm trees
waiting for the salty breezes to cut
right through the thick weight of year
round humidity. More south than
THE SOUTH is where I’m from.
Right where the ocean begins.
I used to be from a woman.
Insane, brave, wafting Chanel
Numero 5 every time she walked
away from a disappoint. Now I’m from
she who stays alive in a remembered soul.
Where I’m from we make lists
to remember to forget. They
start with a revolution and end
with an occupation. They start
with mothers and end with
memories. Where I’m from
the men always remarry.
Where I’m from we dance when we can
knee-slapping, belly up! To the life cleansing
spell of moonshine, the click clack of the dominoes against
the kitchen table. We still use the tambourine.
We still believe in God-erzulie-legba-la baron-marasa.
I’m from some old world on a third plane
where we invite death to the table
and remind him to enjoy the softness
of the velvet sun.
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