"The white fathers told us, "I think, therefore, I am" and the black mother within each of us – the poet – whispers in our dreams, I feel, therefore I can be free."- Audre Lorde

Wednesday, February 13, 2013


If serendipity were a tea, it would be rich and full bodied,
And fermented.

Young innocent leaves—plucked as buds and buried
Far away from sunlight
Tucked tightly in a sack
Bound by the discerning weaves of indecision
Tucked tightly in a sack
That rests beneath layers of earth
A comforting reminder of both
Beginnings and of ends.

 This earth would be in a cave
A deep tunneling rock
Carved out from broken places— a sanctuary, a birth house

And in this cave
Beneath the earth
Resting tightly in the swaddle of a sack cloth
The young delicate leafs
Would slowly age;
And with age darken;
And with darkness, ferment.

 In this cave,
Each leaf would absorb
the wisdom of its surroundings;
Would memorize the rhythm of each of its sounds;
the every sensation of dripping damp coldness

Until each leaf would grow to bare
The imprint
of being buried far far away
from day

Or night.

 If serendipity were a tea,
It’d be uncovered and unearthed
Resurrected from its burial sack
Like an ancient and sacred artifact  
Whose history tells a story of a
Slow and aged journey
And upon seeing the light
For the first time since a bud,
Each leaf would be beaten and bruised
As if survival
Gives it its rich and dank mouthfeel;
Its soul-filled aftertaste.

 If serendipity were a tea
You’d add a teaspoon and a half
Of its broken leaves
Into a cup of no longer boiling water—
You’d let it steep for approximately 5-8 minutes
No more, no less
And you’d close your eyes
And get lost
As it would fill your mouth,
Your body,
Your entire being
With an aged perfection
that to only darkness and desolation
Could give life.

 You become the cave,
The earth
The elapsed time
And sunshine
As you hold the mug closely to your face
And inhale its smoky heat.

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snail coitus makes me smile