Gorèe Island Ghosts by Tichaona Chinyelu

on

|

views

and

comments

These poems are part of a special section of the Mid-Atlantic Review, Celebrating Black History, and selected by editors Khadijah Ali-Coleman, Carolivia Herron, and Rebecca Bishophall. To learn more about this series read a blog post on the Day Eight website here.

Gorèe Island Ghosts

by Tichaona Chinyelu

Night comes but sleep absconds.
Haunted by Gorèe Island ghosts,
the dark is a terror
dawn only partially relieves.

Imagined insurrection
leads the prima donna, paranoia,
to prowl the perimeter.

Sounds of sedition, claps of connivance;
something is afoot that affirms
these synapses snaps, these maladies
worse than plagues, poxes and pestilences.

Creeping closer to the sounds in the raven dark
the heart tells tales eyes can’t corroborate.
Retreat in silence.
Reconvene in revenge.

Dawn brings a terror only night relieves.
The paraphernalia of a pilgrim society
unleashed with all the power of its patriarchy
whips bodies and notions into frenzy.
Haunted, night comes
and the enslaved abscond.

Over hills, over dales,
through swamps, smallpox and sedition;
naked and damn near necrotic
feeding only on what could be
scrounged, stolen or salvaged
they made themselves
free.

Tichaona Chinyelu is a writer, mother and author of three books of poetry: In the Whirlwind, Still Living on my Feet and Contraband Marriage. She is currently at work on her fourth book of poetry, Gorèe Island Ghosts. Ms. Chinyelu’s writings can be found at http://stilllivingonmyfeet.com.

Featured image in this post: Île de Gorée sous le soleil vue de la chaloupe, Fawaz.tairou, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

Editor
Editorhttp://www.dayeight.org
Bourgeon’s mission, through our online publication and community initiatives, is twofold: to increase participation in the arts and to improve access to the arts. Bourgeon is a project of the not-for-profit Day Eight.
Share this
Tags

Must-read

Two Poems by Bill Ratner

They Send Me to the City to Stay with My Auntie I hang my jacket in the hallwayher apartment is oldmade from shoestring potatoesit smells...

 IF FREEDOM DIES by Alan Abrams

IF FREEDOM DIES What’s next for us, if freedom dies–For those of us, they smear as woken—must we wear their yoke of lies? They seal their...

Three Poems by Lesley Younge

Rock Paper Scissors Water. water to rub rock smooth water to rust scissors shutwater to dissolve paper into nothingnessthen return it to the cannibal trees waterwaterwaterwaterwaterwaterwater water to...
spot_img

Recent articles

More like this

LEAVE A REPLY

Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here