FOREMOTHERS
My foremothers safeguard my stride, avoiding the fault lines of the
vulgar Earth, they placate the stacked tectonic plates.
We are uprooted and disjointed
Honest and disoriented
We are suspended by Oya’s whirlwind
Disguised as birds taken to flight
We are engrossed by Erzulie’s erotic love
Refreshed by the cool spring flowing down our backs
But we are not hidden
We howl at death and keep your soul intact
They whisper into my ears, boasting about their feats and defeats:
“I poisoned Master LeCroix that one time”
“I left Jean to die in the fields”
“I seduced Madame Johnson”
“Who do you think built the city of Nantes?”
“Have you heard the bellows of enslaved rage?”
Each foremother imparted the names of
their masters and their lovers
With the precision of Galileo’s telescopes
Their existence contradicting gentile sentiments
Each foremother different from the next with their flashy eyes