Ember Among Ashes

my mother told me about nights like these

dust settling in the creases of my eyes

bellows that don’t belong to me echoing in my lungs

she taught me how to hold a heart still when the earth shook

but this time I find it hard to listen.

I lost my voice in a Congolese mine

calling for my sister

they spilled her blood in Lagos

it dried black beneath olive trees in Palestine

sleep is crimson

seas of salt and bullets and rubble

I was exiled; too potent,

they wrote,

whole wars foam between her legs,

all pains course contractually. 

she pressed like tongue against a mouth full of loose teeth

held knees apart like borders

sweat beads as the ornament of her skin

and for the first time in six years

refugee camps on the cold tip of her nose saw rain

she tore the burning atlas from her fevered skin

and felt like running to the ocean,

but soon enough the world 

slows its revolution in time 

to point North and

she had birthed a funeral.

Allegedly, Reportedly, Apparently,

they documented.

it latched onto her, 

parched,

its anthem dribbled from out of the creases of its mouth

as queasy voices rose from her shaking hands

they said ‘Sucking us dry of milk,’

‘Pitiful and dark and dangerous,’

‘Let them eat grass’

they said ‘Look what they’ve done to their own countries- what will they do to ours?’

a caged cry.

foil blankets damning on concrete beds. 

the moon rushes to remind

that somewhere our women are singing 

Swing Low Sweet Chariot

even though the words stick to the roof of our mouths

not here, 

but somewhere,

our men are dancing. 

no red gums to run from, 

no rubble or rain.

my mother told me about nights like these

dust settling in the creases of my eyes

bellows that don’t belong to me echoing in my lungs

she taught me to hold a heart still when the earth shook

but this time I find it hard to listen.