Liberia
Liberia sticks to my skin
Hot thick dusty air and the gangster stare of five year olds cover me
And I can’t see past Pangaea-
Cuz the connected soul of la tierra entera is all up in my face here
I peer into pages of palm trees, dirt roads, and bloodlines
Find myself sitting around laughing with young cats in the earth’s womb
As normal as fries with a burger
As Liberia as potato greens with enormous fish heads,
As “my parents are dead”, as telling me that Jesus said, ‘Love your enemy’
I’m drenched in Liberia and I’m ready
To let this be what it is and not act like my opinions are epically informed
This layer of Liberia, feels endless in my pores
Like Mildred’s sisters baby and what Stephen lost to war
Ends been cut off along with electricity, innocence, and limbs
And the day’s last light dims Monrovia golden
A mother holding her child nurtures hope
She the turner of pages, the book of life an Atlas
Carries worlds up on her shoulders and laughs
I’m near collapse
Cuz Liberia is pressed into my chest
So tight I can’t even get an ‘I love you’ out my lungs
Liberians could answer all my questions but they’d rather have me guess…
If I can show ‘em love with a hug? I’m gonna have to go with Yes
Cuz unless mama earth tells me no,
I’m gonna join the Youth in planting seeds and wait to see what grows
In Liberia
Things are 1822 times more complex than they appear
90% indigenous population saying, “love of liberty brought us here”
Fufu on the table, Usher on the radio and cousin’s in staten island,
Reverence for the states that don’t even know you’re here singing, dancing and dying
Ready to sell your gold coast for a visa but where’s the silver lining?
Finally, I see it at a youth group meeting in a hood called soul clinic
Keeping it realer than their tin roof they push aside the pain
Young women and men waging an anti-rape campaign
Planting season over, they know damn well they are the rain
Wearing fearlessness and t-shirts that say my body is mine
They own themselves and the future and right now is their time
Suddenly, I realize I’m seeing tomorrow being born in Liberia
Breaking day in Daniel’s voice, Woloquoi’s eyes, and Fatumata’s song
And in Liberia, it’s rude to simply hum along,
this is survival music, head just above water, fresh out of the fire,
you still alive so you inspired music,
belted out with our hands held tight,
for healing and for food, for rains and human rights…
Liberia like liberation, Love sung in desperation
Sticking to my skin, sweating and letting go
The last note has to say it all, but I can’t hit that key
The song of Liberia- endless here within me-
Will it echo inside my mind like the gunshots in the dream
Plastered to my skin, will you see it when you look at me
Liberia’s dust, sun, and broken hearted glances
Sticking like memories and the smell of the streets
To my skin,
To my heart,
To all my days to come.
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1 comment:
This is an incredible poem. It almost brought tears to my eyes. I was in Liberia during the week that Tolbert was inaugurated. Pat Nixon (Tricky Dick's wife) came to represent the US. Tolbert who had been Vice under Tubman kissed the ground in front of her feet as she got off the airplane. That was too much for me, I went to Kakataa (probably misspelled -- I know how to say it but seldom or don't remember seeing it written down.) Tolbert had school children singing "Total Involvement for Higher Heights" and there were folks who were the indigenous population singing the anthems about how they had been discovered and founded by the Americo-Liberians in the early 19th century. Little acknowledgement was given to the fact that they were already there and that these founders set up a regime that was as clearly segregated when I was there as South Africa. I refused to go to any of those places where I as an African-American could go along with the Americo-Liberians but the country people (as they called themselves) could not go. It was nicer hanging out in the interior and eating palm butter stew and boney fish and rice. Or even going clubbing late at night in New Kru Town. But all of that was before the years of war. I have heard that I wouldn't recognize the place from the devastation. But the people were and are beautiful. I can tell from the poem that their resilliant spirit lives on and will rebuild that which has been distorted and destroyed over the last 186 years.
Thanks for your post
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