She Spirit
(adapted from "Gutta Beautiful")
Nina Angela Mercer
She spirit lives strong in the river, bathing atop blue rock, whispering through the limbs of strong bamboo, resting between the light rays of a sun descending orange behind the tree tops of Assin Manso. She spirit strong and waiting along a shaded trail, where bird-song tickles the ears, laughs pouting lips, gives dance to tired feet. She spirit. A blink of an eye and lashes long so. She spirit. Hands on hip, back bone dips, and strong so … sugar cane sweet and ackee yellow. Nana Pra. Nsmanfo. Egun. She is me. Her language? Soul speak and mountains dressed in clouds hung low, green tree leaves juicy, and roots deep in red earth, holding on. She spirit live strong in that river, bathing atop blue rock, whispering stories of courage between the gathering place – a prison made of boulders way north in Paga – and the journey of many shuffling feet, a chain of bodies sold down the dusty path south to Elmina.
It is in this place that I lost my love. I thought that maybe I would see him in a day or two. I thought that maybe I would hear his voice from somewhere behind the wall. I would put my face on the floor and listen for him to call my name. And this is what we lived for. We were children together. And he was my love. How could I go to the white man when he called me? A nasty thing. I wanted to spit in his face, gauge out his eyes, fight him … to get to my love. I would stay chained forever, waiting. I sit in silence for two months. I do not speak. I stare out, eyes locked somewhere in space. Don’t leave me. We wait for what we do not know.
And across big waters, flying water vultures with teeth that rip some apart, bodies packed one on top the other, wailing, screaming, dying and birthing us new over raging waters, angry waters. And the names of the ships crossing them over? Jesus. Holy Mary.
She spirit live strong, still bathing atop blue rock, whispering through the limbs of poplars and resting between the light rays of a sun descending orange behind tree tops in Louisiana. She spirit strong and waiting along a shaded trail, where bird-song tickles the ears, laughs pouting lips, gives dance to tired feet. She spirit. A blink of an eye and lashes long so. She spirit. Hands on hip, back bone dips, and strong so … sugar cane still sweet, though cotton pricks the fingers to bleed so. Corn in husk for roasting over hot fire on a dusty path beyond the Delta. Nsmanfo. Egun. She is me. Her language? Soul speak and swamps thick with crocodiles, tree stumps burn, still – roots deep in red earth, holding on She spirit live strong in these rivers, bathing atop blue rock, whispering stories of courage at the gathering place in Congo Square, where rhythms memory home and the journey of many feet, a chain of bodies sold …
It is in this place that I lost my love: My eyes on the machete, my palms sweating. I watch you and wait for a sign. Life. I wait for yes. And I do it. I take the machete and life in my hands. Blood. I … mother, sister, lover, savior … hurt, and my heart. So, I took the machete in my hands and stood next to you. I took the machete in my hands to get back to you. Freedom. Blood on my hands. In my womb. I scream. Freedom! And it hurts. I had to do it. Blood on my hands. In my heart. And it hurts, ‘cause I still lost you.
In Response To A Brother's Question About What He Should Do
When His Best Friend Beats Up His Woman *
asha bandele
snatch him up by the back of his neck run him into his own fist twice
tell him who the real enemy is show him make him swallow his own
teeth do not help when they scratch the inside of his throat tell him it
was his fault make his eyes swell up so he looks like a freak make him
go to work like that & come up with excuses why he looks so bad tell
him it's the whiteman show no sympathy when he tries to hide from the
whispers tell him you're sorry tell him you love him and then kick his
ass again tell him it was his fault question him on why he's such a
coward interrogate his ass make him beg forgiveness watch him
crawl put the word out on the street THERE'S AN ENEMY IN OUR
PRESENCE THERE'S AN ENEMY IN OUR PRESENCE it does not
think it only attacks it makes weak-ass excuses it takes no responsibility
it picks on things smaller than itself and reads sharazad ali it worships
miles davis
IT LIES IT LIES IT DESTROYS
LIFE IT LIES!!!
and if he finally understands then go to him find out where it started
search for burn marks beneath his flesh peel back his pain be a brother
whisper haki madhubuti to him whisper sonia sanchez let him sleep
in yr arms stand alone if you have to this is the right thing to do
stand alone let them talk while you break centuries of vicious cycles
face the contradictions the sliced open bellies the jaws wired shut the
assholes split the breasts scarred from cigarette butts and bloodied vaginas
this is what it looks like do not turn away now babies beat out of
wombs spines curved uneven legs that no longer walk dead eyes that
do not see tomorrow livers imprinted with size 12 shoes
face the contradiction that looks like u
that smells like u
that feels like u
and push out the violence be unafraid to be a man who confronts men
about women be unafraid to be a man
who confronts men
big mean ass nasty men
be unafraid to be a man
who confronts
himself.
*IPH acknowledges Moore Black Press for the permission to re-print Bandele’s poem.
