After Ajanae Dawkins
freedom is probably a rapture,
to those who believe.
the fear of being left behind.
what is power
if the entire land is damned?
could we even know liberation here?
if we bodied the revolution over land or
landed the body in revolution or
revolted the land we call our bodies —
the tongues we fought as borders
there is no prayer for the Tower of Babel.
to whatever divinity has scattered us as such:
what will we make of our new cradles of tomorrow?
the issue of decolonizing the body:
the limited imagination we are offered
past the ships leaving the shore.
what happens to our mouths,
when the last shards of ivory finally flow out,
spitting all back into the ocean.
will our bones begin washing up out of the sea —
a railroad mob of salt marrow? we have never
completely known the expanse of the deep.
we have continued to build obelisks
in the sky to hear what to do with our ritual speech.