Margru's Aria

I could tell by their looks
their touches,
the way they handled me,
they wanted a girl.
They thought I was a virgin.
Even these men here,
in this prison,
call me the girl.
They think I am a virgin.

They got what they wanted,
a slight girl,
with slim hips
and small breasts.
They don't know
I left a baby wrapped in cloth,
waiting for his milk.

He is lying in his cloth
on a pallet on the ground,
under my mother's gaze,
in my house of grass,
in a small round house,
on barren heartless soil
where the wind blows
all but the goats away.

His cloth was orange
with sea shells on it.
I kept him wrapped
tight to my back,
except that afternoon,
when I went for food.

When they took me
my milk flowed
down the dirt trails,
down my legs and arms,
on the rusty irons.
And yes, I helped to kill the men.
I cut one of those sailors
in his chest.

I was not afraid to die.
I was afraid
I could not get back
where I still live my life.
I am still caught in a step
on my way back
to a pallet on the ground,
my baby wrapped in sea shells,
waiting for his milk.
 

- - by Thulani Davis

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....................................................
What the Navigator Saw

The moonlight died.
Suddenly in the night,
in my bunk all was still.
Then I could hear the wind,
a fierce wind rising.
The night was pitch black
when loud came the call,
"drop the sails, a storm!"

The sails battled the gusty wind,
bellowed as down they came.
The sheets snapped wildly
against the masts.
I thought I heard thunder,
the ship seemed to come asunder.
When the lightning cracked,
I saw their faces.

The lightning cracked again.
I saw their faces plain.
I heard the men running and falling.
Calls, bloody calls, kept coming.
Again the light was gone.
The night was pitch black,
but I felt the machetes
cool against my neck.
"Murder," the men hollered.

"Kill the animals, kill them all!"
I could not make a sound.
I could only move where
their blades would guide me.
They were pitch black,
stealthy like panthers,
their claws at my neck.

Once on deck I could see.
It was a terrible sight.
Once on deck I could see,
it was a murderous night.
Once on deck I could see,
even in the pitch black and rain,
we were done for. All hope was lost.
The Africans had taken us all.
 

          - - by Thulani Davis

........................................................
Skin of Clouds

Goddess of the Waters:
And one day they began
to fall, to rain,
rain down
into my endless, my watery,
unknowing reach.
They began to fall,
these people,
creations of the gods,
fall
like petals, strands of palm,
into my endless
unknowing body.
The people always gave me honor.
They came to the water's edge,
bringing sweets and flowers
as offering.

I have a taste for honey,
sweet amber hidden in trees,
and tree blossoms, bright colored
and fragile,
fragrant, and short lived.
They grow in the earth,
unknown to me.

But, they come as if from the heavens,
creatures of theearth,
falling into my body,
passing through my
dancing and gleaming,
my skin of mirrors and clouds,
spittle and sky,
blood and sinew,
pulled down by my heaving waves.
I am the waters
that run through their hands,
through their skin and
back into the vast within.

They come as if from the heavens,
creatures of the earth,
seeds spit from me onto theland,
not like an offering,
not like the honey, the blossoms,
the sweet smells I crave
but screaming,
flung like wasted dead leaves,
broken tree limbs,
lifeless shells.

Give them to the fire first.
When they come to me,
the fire is still inside them,
burning from within.
Give them to the fire first.
Sear them from memory.
Do not offer them to me
half-lit and screaming.
Let them know fire's emptiness.
Let me soothe them with my fullness.

Give them to the air first.
Let them fly till life is gone.
Suck the air from their lungs,
and clear their souls of all regret.
Let them be clean of the pain.
Do not offer them to me
bellowing with fear and sorrow.
Let them know the air's loneliness.
So I may soothe them with my embrace.

I tell the heavens,
I tell the earth,
gods of all the living
and the dead,
the waters will rise up
with the moon
and crush the rims of earth.
This howling is not of the seas.
The death defiles my body,
dares to take my children,
rip them from the land.
This howling is not of the seas.
It is a madness,
not of nature,
not of the gods,
but of men.

                    - - by Thulani Davis