Black Men in Search of the Rivers

I am weary from the road.

Chest heavy, I search for 

cool water, 

ripe oranges,

coconut meat.

 

Come with me.

 

The river beckons. 

I leave behind

what is not mine to begin with.

 

Let me touch honey to your tongue,

slide my fingers on your chest, 

release you from your burdens.

 

We too are entitled to the soft places inside ourselves. 

 

Let me rub your temples.

 

The Maker of Brass, 

The Turtle Drummer, 

The Spirit of the River,

whispers. 

 

Claim your crowns. Take your place

among the stars.

 

I wash dust from my feet, 

tie a shawl around my waist.  

We dance.