Memory mocked us.
Thrust a long lascivious tongue
through the chiselled slit
of a viewing window.
Memory mocked us.
Thrust a long lascivious tongue
through the chiselled slit
of a viewing window.
“So crossing the river
and walking the path
we came at last to Kumasi.” – Kamau Brathwaite
(for Kamau on his 70th birthday)
at seventy
your voice
soft drone
balanced with quick guitar pick
finding notes
no one heard or knew.
I feel a thickening I’ve felt before
A denseness growing at my core
The calling of a wooden floor