MI-SS-I-SS-I-PPI
Here where Ol’ Man River
empties its long, long story into the Sea,
its lips heavy with uncharted crossings
Where myths meander their way
through mangrove fables
bearing fragments of upland truths
Here where the River ends its song
let my own begin
I sing, then, of the magic of the Sun
so tropical on this uneven plain
Of alluvial silences brown with the rain,
mellow with Memory’s music
Of the pecan-eyed pelicans of History
nesting in the artificial island between our skins
And cottonfields which drift into the distance
white with power, obscene with Negro sweat
Oh for the countless songs and fables
mothered by this alluvial dirt
Reared between pain and pang
in the outhouse of wounded tribes
Rising strong, drifting North, thunder-clear
brown like the Flood, bluer than the Sea…
In the sand, hoofprints of yesterwars
and I, sojourner, striving hopewards
Between Walker’s songs and the fables of Faulkner