A Hymn to Kola Boof
By Rudolph Lewis
I’m a
sufferer
you, a
sufferer
we, a
sufferer
ain’t
nothing wrong
with being a
sufferer
Magic mother, my life began with
you
& your stories of African
women
in Long Train to
the Redeeming Sin.
Your bronzed uplifted breasts hang
proud luscious melons / suns
with black nipples.
Your passionate haughty song
calls out & cannot be denied.
I honeysuckle
flower
my way through
your bars,
get down in you,
work my i out/in of/on
you.
There’s
bleeding liberation & peace
at the end of
the tunnel, Nilotic Woman.
You ain’t no
afrocentric wonder—
no media painted
Nefertiti or Ethiopian queen.
You, a flesh
pleasing pushover & ball buster,
an Alice Walker, a Grace Jones dynamo,
no pale, faint
copy of whiteness.
You, a big-butt
church-rocking fantasia
Nile River
goddess, swimming toward me
into my life, you arouse me,
awaken
me, viagra naturelle, you
rescue me
from snow cold hands
you, a salty Niger woman.
You, blue-black
as Southern summer nights
shunned by Jesus
& Muhammad, smashed
like idols; hidden from view,
daring—
cicada eyes, you
burrow up to sunlight,
crowning spring
trees & blue skies
with a ringing
chorus of life & death.
Tell me again you love
me
let it be me
that lay with you
in your volcanic
ocean of wonder.
I’m a
sufferer
you, a
sufferer
we, a
sufferer
ain’t
nothing wrong
with being a sufferer |