sister
call me leah
you came all this way
in 2023 after centuries
my line still rests here
we be of Geechee & sadly, some white blood mixed in
some of us never made it to charleston, nyc, chicago, or la
it was a long ride you know
rotten & broken bodies
chained-up & down & around
hand-to-foot
foot-to-hand
we could not talk to another
across tribes & tongues
against beats & rhythms
but we knew, this would not be good
for any of us
we smelled feces, urine & sperm
period blood & afterbirth
smelled the death of others
for hours/ days/ weeks/ months
saltwater could not heal us
from gold coast shores to south carolina
from ship bellies to mcleod plantation
massa’s house, cotton fields,
mud-waterlogged cabin walls & floors
living 12x12 in a 2x2
you came from the bowels of the modern city
traffic lights, microwaves & ac
indoor plumbing, toilet flushes & hot-water showers lavender shower gel & coco-mango body butter
we made our own soap
cakes of brown lye that never lathered-up enough
homemade bleach
used our hands, stones & the washboard
when we had one
hot water burned & scalded our arms
hands & fingertips to the bones
washed & ironed for years
to buy our selves back
worked to the bone to buy land
scrubbed the clothes of the folks who infringed on us
infringed on our lives on a regular
thought we had no lives to speak of or to protect
broken families, sold away kids,
husbands, parents & cousins
I was on the mcleod plantation
on a warm & windy south carolina tuesday
the wind whispered her words
you came all this way tell them I was here
tell them
tell them
tell them
they called me Leah tell them you be my cousin
we be of Geechee & sadly, some white blood mixed in
some of us never made it to charleston, nyc, chicago, or la
