And We Took The Sabbath, Too

I remember the night we made Rwenjura cry

my love,

for we finally held a secret they wanted to tell.

As we lay spent,

damp from the dew that curls its way even to…

to…

tooooooo…

the Nile,

yes, the Nile—

thoughts scattered,

turned inside out by the pads of your fingers,

gently tracing,

again,

down my spine.

Take me to Hathor, so I may brag on you.

Yes, Mountain of the Moon, cry out as I did,

cry out as I do,

still

awaiting him in that long, deep, night.

I’z been the one to sew you up in the reeds,

to gently unwrap the noose from yo’ neck,

hiding you from Set—

words blending times all a’blurred

from the moment our love flung past

till the future was the now,

and before was the beginning;

dawn be old…

Trade your finest linens for our nakedness,

your skin to melt into mine.

Gaze for Gaze:

In your soul beats my heart,

and I can’t hear her no more lest you in me.

You suckled my nipples as Soumaoro Kanté grew nearer,

and my release overtook their war cries.

Our magic stronger than his.

I came back down from Massa’s big ol’ house,

and you held me like I was still yo’ somethin’ precious,

yet you felt my rebuke in my silence.

My feet would not dance for you that night.

Kibo has your smile.

You asked for a girl,

and I gave you Meru—

you wondered if we would ever find Moses again

and I sank onto you,

ready for you to place the savior inside of me.

Utakuwa naye kufikia alfajiri

When have you ever reached for my hips

and I ain’t give you paradise?

The Delta be where you’ve always laid me,

by the Tana,

or twisted my limbs like cypress

in the Mississippi—

all things laid bare, all things made new.

Má fi mi sílẹ̀.

Whispering your command, and I take all of you like the

pleasure I know comes after the thuuunderrrrrrrrrrrr…

Again, I begged.

Again, you gave.

Carve into me,

like the drinking gourd you need for your quest ahead.

I be Mecca;

I be Salt Roads

and Route 66;

I be the molasses of Les Manquets,

and you burned it all down for me.

I simply asked you for a song,

and you made Orunmila give me a symphony.

I sighed,

and with my breath,

you gave me nightingales.

As I oiled your scalp,

popping your hands with the comb

as they stroked my thighs,

unraveling my mind as I tried to make your parts.

Wishing you’d behave,

needing just one moment to concentrate,

so I could weave the passage our children would need

to find the zig zags out them damned fields.

And you tell me they gone be okay.

And I tell you the same.

And then you make me rain…

rainnn…

raaainnnnnnnnn…

Alas, look at all we made—

no rest on our Sabbath day.

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