The Slave Castle in Elmina isn’t as beautiful as her name suggests
I enter the clay arms of Gorée Island’s ancient grounds
and let this be the last thought that steals my attention
The red fortress still leans against the volcanic rocks
as stunning as any glossy travel magazine cover
it’s hard to distinguish eloquent architecture from its destructive design
Listen, beauty can kill more beautiful things
It delights in possessing the bruised, sweet fruit, whether it bursts or rots
The stubborn door of Maison des Esclaves fastens shut after we enter
and I can’t help but look at the vicious maw
suspicious as a stolen bride
The spirituals in my chest
are eager to return to a home I know
“The Door Of No Return” waits patiently ahead
Have you ever stared at a hungrier death?
The dank, stony cell closest to the sea once cradled children and women
I imagine they were the color of my great-grandmother
with cheekbones and noses as sharp as cutting knives
The murder pen is flanked by stone-structured quarters
where island-bound women once thrived as keepers of the captured
where island-bound women were taught to slice her sister’s flight
a math problem divided by no living answer
I can still see the blue-black neck of the gun barrel
Hot hot and cutting through the castle’s meticulous slit
signaling the shark’s breakfast with screams from the bullet’s prey
as the current crash awaits blood gold from the enslaved
What other hell is there to believe in?
In the belly of the mausoleum, where the echoes lift the hair on my forearms
I hold my chest like a machete and weep for the lives stolen until shadows
I like to think I am a patient coup-ready woman
But I know the heaven we jump towards is merely a holy crawl
You got to harrow deep within to free the deadly hope from your gut
After months and months and months of steel rust blisters
Sometimes, the only peace you can count on lives
in the jaws of a sea beast or a stolen country’s mineral pit
Hollow, be the manmade purgatory you believe in
I swear, on everything I love
hell looks nothing like this
The Sound in my Body1 (Murmuration & Echo)
It delights in possessing the bruised sweet fruit no matter if it bursts or rots
and I can’t help but look at the vicious maw
The spirituals in my chest
“The Door of No Return” waits patiently ahead
The dank stony cell closest to the sea once cradled children and women
with cheekbones and noses as sharp as cutting knives
where island-bound women once thrived as keepers of the captured
a math problem with no living answer
Hot hot and cutting through the castle’s meticulous slit
as the current crash awaits blood gold from the enslaved
In the belly of the mausoleum, their echoes lift the hair on my forearms
I like to think I am a patient coup-ready woman
You got to harrow deep within to free the deadly hope from your gut
Sometimes, the only peace you can count on lives
Hollow, be the manmade purgatory you believe in
I swear on everything I love
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