Braiding Water
…you say it is love, it is poison.
–nasir jones
the monkey waded lights
orange, red and green
shylock of the creeks revving outboard
lonely voyager upon life’s raft
alone he comes, silently with supplication
to the sprite of junctions
whose withheld name is the mantra
spoken in turn by everyman at passion height
priscilla. receiving wares, toys or powder
syringes and shisha
things to make the ride bumpier
for god never abstains from holocaust
she asks his name and again
only to forget in the rigours of ploughing
these lands, fertile from decay
waterlogged from a perpetual state
of dreams without exit
no tragedy, all deaths pre-planned
so souls could become forced
into niger arms
which were concourse in the initial
for iniquitous play.
2
a weird pair they made
and water carried questions
about a monkey and sprite
who made goblins
after they had lain
and bottled his lust in the setting sun
using it to fuel spinning axes
bringing rain
gradually becoming poison
even to a sprite
who forgot prior natures
after a cool drink
black like afrique noir
but more crimson
from little explosions
like land mines
a bit more desirous
destructively gripping
like a mainliners’ curse
serpentine tracks on the upper arm
jabbing bites at denouement
reminding of the beginning
3
let us fly she says
but monkeys own no wings
only prehensile tails lubricated,
unable to grasp
love’s antennae glides
through oil stilled distributaries
so what does a sprite do?
a monkey is lifted home
and fashioned with a dagger,
admonitions to cut prior unions
no monkey-wives and cubs
just leeching holes for priscilla
to fasten chains leading back
to her junctures
where monkey-armies’ stance
is a votive to the temple
deep below navels, where
life is spun upon a jemmy
creating new fabrics
what is, may not have been
if certain steps were recanted
from the dark waters of beginning
4
when only a sprite-girl
mother skinned leviathans
fished from arroyos.
in weird tongues they spoke
of fear and father’s outboard
of hooks and gnarled mangrove
intoxicating sap from raffia palm
tapped by death
after news of his fall
and monkey men danced
around funeral mounds
watching mother drink cleansing water
frothing through her ears
carrying her lover’s coffin
love’s hour was past midnight
gall marked passover posts
glistening from thumb tacks
lord’s crucifixion
by itinerant preacher
of red robes
who came with promise
to make prophetess
5
Of girl child upon bed
In holy of holies
sacraments of flesh
no wafers at tables
phallic priests in rotation
for the word
and dancing manacles
for rigid hosts
and the coming end
personified as night
when soul left sprite
swaying in wind
to monkey priests saying
in memory of me
instants of bliss
in perpetuity
and the paradise
of junctions
where a sprite
awaits the end.
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Poem: Richard Anyah
Image: Ian D. Keating via Flickr