| dry land ain’t never been for black folk the earth taketh away, swallowing who it knows to be a grieving thing- whom else incites a fire, ignites a riot—a billy-club built—a man from dust. a nigga was only heading home and now home is a camera flash a drowning in a bottle and bathtub i’m sure, there is a dirge looping that rodney fell into, a hell opening again except each time you reach god, you unbecome and where do you go after you’ve been resurrected in the flesh? and is that where black is? LA asphalt cross no! water is softer!: a baptismal in a pool, a communion of blood can be an ocean | the water knows this: as a nigga cometh, so shall then a nigga depart, ask the ocean how many came by sea- by salt. salt-water has a perfect memory, so be it all of us are trying to get back to where we came from rodney gave up the ghost like his daddy both on father’s day. there is a quote about lineage that doesn’t quite fit but know not much fits nor opens except death except think of this more as unborn and where do you go if you are un- born—a womb? backyard swimming pool? is that holy enough? a hole at the bottom of the sea / sea / sea / we promise we are always looking for a way home |
—Porsha Olayiwola (The Quarry: A Social Justice Poetry Database)