“Gathering Cry”

I saw my grandfather,
High priest and leader of this family.
I was dancing with my grandfather,
To a rhythm that my feet already knew.
I was holding the hand of my grandfather
As he was literally and metaphorically leading me,
In dance and in life,
Towards reality, mine and ours.
The hidden one,
The buried one,
The one drowned in the Atlantic Ocean.
I lost the first letter of my last name in the water.
I lost my mother and was adopted by her confused offsprings,
Who dance like she taught them to
But can’t seem to remember her words.
In the effort of recovering my memory
I will implore the deities who I know carry me.
I speak to the orishas as often as they let me.
The water scared me,
Its depths seemed too dark and insidious,
Still I was called,
And found in my heart that I could float.
Mother called her Ymoja,
My brothers called her Agwe,
Mamiwata she is to me, and to many,
Sister of the golden queen
Oshun, blinged up blindingly beautiful
Who, by the cards I was led to draw,
Will watch over me in the near destiny.
Slowly but surely I am filled by the glory
That I thought I was denied
When all along it was growing inside me.
When us godesses finally find the right key to sing to in harmony
We will unleash the harsh melody that is the truth about or roots.
A gathering cry
To which I hope
My grandfather will answer,
So I can return the favor,
Dance with him to a rhythm he’s not as familiar with,
Hold his hand
And lead him to the missing piece of him,
The missing piece of us,
That he taught me to look for.