Trancesent Soulstice

posted in: Poetry | 0


I need a leg up to the platform

Can’t launch me by myself

I reach out for a helping hand

Someone hands me a microphone

And I fall back, right off the stage

I’ll be spammed and jammed

And later I’ll be damned

But you won’t get rid of me

So easily, like a too-dunked donut

Or a lightning stricken tree

I crawl back up ungracefully

To stand on that couch of inequity

The stage, where I get to rage

Where I get to cry, and even die

Where I’ve given birth

Swelled or sunk in girth

Wall-eyed madness of the mouth

Lost in reverie going south

Billowing with bluster

Turn the page, baby buster

Kissing someone I can’t suffer

But in this scene he’s my lover

Touching a woman intimately

To show my adaptivity

Wearing one long satin glove

Feigning glamour like a mourning dove

A grandma, mother, wife or child

A whole lot silly, a little bit wild

Wielding a whip, brandishing a machete

Strewing the stage with rice and confetti

Underdog wobbling on frostbitten feet

I need a leg back up I repeat

Can’t live without the old familiar bitch

Hope my star don’t blister before I get rich

But forget reaching out for helping hands

They’ve all got them down in their own pants

When it comes to climbing, thanks, I’ll do my own

It’s a long time still before I wreck your home

I was born to the stage and I hope to die

Before Messiah is a twinkle in Horus’s eye

I’m burning, churning, who got the mambo

Rustle up a mess o’ grub, I’m aiming for the Congo

Back back back to my black black roots

To the Mother’s belly, Mama Africa touts

The sacred mantle of the primal cradle

Tributaries from her loins are considerable

We all emanate from her yet man enslaves her

But her will and wisdom is what always saves her

Once I played Gaia on my theatrical path

She was my true grandmother, boiling with wrath

At the rape of the earth

At the violence of each birth

Each loss, each boss, each indignity

Yet she seldom wept, just bounced me on her knee

Now she curtsies to Africa, her heiress designate

“You got to carry on, Mama, ‘cause I’ve got a date

You got to bring these ornery creatures in line

Take away their weapons, realign each spine

Turn their eyes from warring to nurturing grain

Put them back in a harmonious crib again

“Teach them poetry, song, compassion, healing

It’s prophecy, baby, that I’m revealing

They can go no more to the poison well

They must get off their asses or they’re going to hell”

Gaia’s tough, but she does it so well

All the creatures shiver as they hear the death knell

“Thank you, Grandma, I owe my life to you,”

Says Africa, turning green and blue

“I can only imagine what you been through,

Battles fought on your terrain set the cosmos askew

Ma, my portion in this quadrant has as well been brutal

What with slavery, colonialists, war lords—futile!

“Or so it seemed to seem, but now I’m fulfilled

My sky is clear and my land is tilled

I’m Mother Africa, the Alpha and Omega

It’s this very concept I want to convey, Ma

This is the role I was born to portray

And when I grow stripes and am reduced to clay

I’ll be resurrected, remolded, and returned to play

Now push me back on that stage, I am emboldened

I will walk like a Gollum, laced in silver and golden

I can dance out loud like a wizened she-bear

Only decades left now for me to prepare

Who says I am a crone, am I left to dance alone?

“I am filled with moisture

I am pliable and flexible

I’m back from the Cloister

Antiquity is undetectable

My skin is soft and smooth

Ma Africa got back her groove

Released from the dreaded dungeon of time

I slide up through the sewers of primordial slime

Have overcome the trenches

Have healed from all the scars

Got my eye on infinity

By way of the stars”

—Joanie Fritz Zosike


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