18" 1/30 of Maafa Cycle

#1 of Maafa Cycle

18”

18 inches in which to sleep, eat, drink,
Die
Give birth, relieve myself
18 inches – but then the boat shifts and
There is 12 and then none
Between the next person and myself
And the wood upon which my back
First rested attacks my skin and fed up with it -
Feeds upon it. Sucking in my flesh
My Flesh becomes and melts into the wood. Is this
My burial slat?
And the smell – the smell
Once human, now is animal.
There were children on this vessel but
They are gone – gone tossed over, over, over,
The edge of the boat – most went the first
Chance their mothers had to set them free.
And the little ones – once they found rest
In the ocean buoyed up by the salt for a short time- before they sank – after the
Terror left their little eyes- before they were swallowed by forever – after their arms and legs stopped trying – before the waves
Succeeded and pulled them under – after eyes and skin resembled more that of a seal’s than a human child –
--The Sharks
---The sharks growing fat off of the sick and small,
-----The sharks that nipped at each other and swallowed men whole…
The sharks that lived off the flesh of the dying and desolate and lived in the waves cast by the vessel, came.
The vessel that would deliver us to a new hell
To be consumed by the mouth of man and into an other belly.
But here, again, in darkness and foul stench
I share my 18 inches.
Partially, submerged in urine, feces, vomit and afterbirth
I struggle to believe – that red exists beyond blood, green beyond rot and stench.
I struggle to remember lush hillsides and orchids – the heavenly smell of the plains after the rain has passed.
I pray to any god that will listen. DELIVER ME!

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