DESERT RAINSTORM

She creates the room with her presence.
Her chest heaves
with a lifetime of nurturing,
hips sway
and the earth tilts -
I am falling.
Her song trembles through the room -
I am choked by a history
of stolen children and grieving women.
My drought breaks -
a rainstorm washes away
the settled dust of white ancestors.
I am moved in time
to the tap, tap, of sticks.
She sings “Farewell to thee” -
a triumph of a blackman
barred from a doomed ship -
he waves goodbye to wealthy whites
sailing to an icy death.
I laugh and I drown.
I see myself emerge from a desert
swim through a sea of hands
and my journey has barely begun.
Bars of white settlers
hold fast against my progress.
I must tear them down.
A different audience
leaves this room tonight.