a kentucky haint thinks of haiti

im not a witch
nor the son of one
but i want to be

so instead, i write
to shore up the lack,
every written word

thrown head first
into the ohio river
more than once

to sink or to float
whichever fits
the thick lipped

phonetics/foundation
for this self-anointed
poet building towers

atop
the
waters

...

audre lorde is my lady of the lake
ghost hands parting this southern mouth
housing a kentucky pond/each word a frond
every stem a magic wand/the tongue a baton
wagging in yemoja's general direction,
all of her reflection upon this body of water

...

anyway, the coffee kept on ancestral altars
has crumbled into dirt; prayers dehydrate
into dust fertilizing the eggs of this diaspora

i can await the answers to prayer, im patient
and i meditate. besides, all of my ancestors are
out on loan... tho shorn from kentucky i am kin
to haiti. my not-so-distant cousins needing more
angels than i because love is an immediate action

...

and speaking of punching pat robertson
in the mouth, he and rush limbaugh can call
my ancestors retarded or niggers and me
a retarded nigger for crafting faith from where
the hate of blacks was created. pyre respects
pyre and i am sunflower-supreme. i do not
shrink shrieking into shadows reeking with
shame or fear or of the fear-of-flame... there
is switchblade in my sepals. and just ike all
of my gods, i too speak from my mouth. dont
require prophet-mongers to translate what god's
written on my cheek, so let's not escalate this
renunciation to your ignorance. push me too
hard and i shall no longer pray for you

not that
praying
for you
is ever
a first
venture

every amen
must begin and
end somewhere

and the brackets of this body and
soul do not embrace everybody.

...

but if i was a witch
or the son of one,
how wonderful...

from such
a blessing
would come the
understanding
of beauty and
the undertaking
to use it.

(god damn the prevention
of this american polyglot
spoiling a black man's
asymmetrical patois)