Surrender

By Patricia Jabbeh Wesley 

So often, I want to make you;

roll you, reshape you, a ball of clay

after my say

I want to squeeze you, 

my play dough, an image,

into my image.

I want to melt you, shape you, like gold;

polish you, mold you into a charm

to be sold.

My little woodwork, carve you,

make you my Kissi ritual mask.

I want to hang you

so often, around these, my walls,

make you my little talisman,

swing you, my little magic wand.

My pungent, leafy voodoo,

my sum, my boiling pot of juju.

My little protective pin

about my fabric life, about my pieces.

I want to ride you, my cruising Pajaro.

Suddenly, there

you are, always God.

Now, it is your turn. here, roll me,

reshape me, pat me, mold me,

heating the clay on my flesh,

after your flesh.

Grip hold of my mascara cheeks, my charms

of gold bracelets, binding my life.

Melt all my magic wands,

my bulging, voodoo eyes.

Take hold of my big, bleeding heart,

my boiling pot of juju, my beads

of charms, my me.

And if I'm not yet surrendered,

my God, vanquish me.

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Source: Before the Palm Could Bloom: Poems of Africa