nowing when in remembering then

in the syncopating rumbling there
in the throats of dark men
swallowing water from the mouth
of clear mason jars
in the lap of hot tobacco fields
and in the evening smelling full
of charcoal women frying fish
popping here in round black bellied pots
on bright red embers burning slowly
is a low steady hummming
here telling of a hunger there deep
and praying in the rhythmic cradle
of a real fertile soil

in the words sounding there
through cocoa hands rubbing clothes
‘cross the rusting ribs of old washing boards
and in Miss Glossy ‘cross the street
here git’n along in her white uniform
proudly laughing at another day’s done
is the sweet swelling drummming
of something round and a real dark brown
growing here in rich delta ground
that’s making me real hungry
and wanting for sump’n more

but where then is it now-ing when
the low drumming hummming
sitting there on the shores of Sahara coasts
shading us here in the chains
of bone dancing brothers profaning
this what it wrapping us warm
in the serpentineous sinus-ing
of Jonah’s slave whales
and there carrying us on here
through savannas of preambling sands
pervers-e-nating in the palmings
of pomp and rapacious hands  

nowing here we’re there-ing then
in this canniballing drouthing
of colding and lonelying desert forms
invisibling wanderings in our wondering

how when in what then
am i be finding it now

Copyright © 1993, 2013 Asili Ya Nadhiri