Captive No More
What you are reading is not poetry. It is not fiction. It is my true family history.
I am an ascendant from slavery. Yes.
It means I am a descendant of enslaved bodies. Yes.
Inside me, they locked iron collars,
leg fetters, and hand lockers. Yes.
Yes. Does it sound weird? Yes.
Slavery was real in Africa. Yes
Africa was the Ground Zero of slavery. Yes.
I am joyful today that I gave birth to a new baby.
As a writer, I am always very happy to see my new book in print.
A book is like a child: it takes a lot of work to raise a child.
But the credit for raising a child doesn’t belong to the parents only: the community also supports the parents as they raise the child from infancy to adulthood.
Àkòdì Òrìṣà at sunset, Ile Ife, Nigeria.
This is the location of the Àkòdì Òrìṣà, the home of the ancestral orisa in Yoruba country.
The curator of the Àkòdì Òrìṣà sent me this picture to inform me of the treat that awaits me when I return to Ile Ife. I’ll be there soon. Soon.
The Farmer of Colors
Harvesting a field
of chromatic linguistics
is akin to a dance:
first you must hold
your canvas like a partner
and place layers of
harmonious tinctures over
the picture plane.