Poems

THE BAKER'S DAUGHTER

I flow downstream, north-mad, beneath

the netherworld of dreams:   not air, but sea

and stream and creek: a kind of death wrought

from the kin of love:   in theatres world over,

your iambic flourishes cast me astrew:   impresario

and scholar, you make literal the shadows:  

too mindful, we die to our truer selves, calling father!

But the fathers, all air, walk as ghosts over the grave ground.

 

BUCKET POEM

Too many eggs and the bucket's holed-bottom empties

from the heads of African women shells: sand seeps

through children-buckets: meanwhile, in classrooms, my

brother cries   "Buck-et!", chicken-noises, detention-

sent and bucket-laden, trudging schoolyards, wrappers and

coke-cans: grandmothers keep bucket by bed;

their piss clamours rudely through aluminium nights: into

black women bending by rivers, eggs, hens, and urine

the flotsam of oceans poured in and out of buckets.

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