“Knocking On My Door”
poetry
There is nobody knocking on my door,
not for kinship, not anymore.
Save for Lake Volta’s wash to flood my floor,
shrines Afadjato furthermore.
There is nobody knocking on my door,
not for friending, not anymore.
Save for Elmina Castle’s human store,
caging life young in sophomore.
There is nobody knocking on my door,
not for prayer, not anymore.
Save for Atlantic’s sad salt on my shore,
ships and tears to Baltimore.
There is nobody knocking on my door,
not for romance, not anymore.
Save for Appalachia’s peaks and green moor,
covering screams in sycamore.
***
Dedicated to the victims and descendants of the Transatlantic Slave Trade, and to the people of the lands that suffered their departure.
— — —
Originally published in The Dedicadas: A Chapbook
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