the morning


we grew out of the soil

from ancient coastal cities

with music in their names

we have forgotten

the names of the cities

the meaning of the rhythms

we traversed the unknown

unwillingly eaten by a thing

we would come to know have

names for but that would come

later after we learned to swim

without water to fly

without wings

to hold our breath

praying for the morning

before suffering lead us

to imagine locomotion

a way of

being born again

after dying out of

the known to the nothing

to conjure life

in the belly of death

burning in the night

claim the body

dig the hole

in the morning

gone now  taken

made holy ghost


learning to walk without legs

to climb by

instinct reclaiming

recreating making  new out

of scraps of memory

of necessity

in the name of survival written

in blood ink

the story of becoming

to overcome

still overcoming standing

on broken things that

struggled to leave

enough to stand on

giving all and all

to the all and all of

going forward

knee deep in nightmares

of bloody leaves

successions of shallow graves

without markers

walking on water in

a storm

roaring through centuries of

trying to  make it

to the morning

after the thunder stills

the lightening is quiet

the road is clear the path open

the rain subsides

and the way is clear

so that rising is possible

each generation standing

on the other reaching

for the sun singing

fire songs to stars reflected

on a still ocean


Painting: Intense Thoughts by Laurie Copper



About Ayodele Nzinga, MFA, PhD

I create; therefore I am.
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