Worshipping Lali



The cuts you make on my back, 
the stripes you burn into my skin, 
the rift you tear open in the Atlantic ocean, 
as you pull me away from my kin, 
from my captors, 
from my memories and gods and demons, 
they will undo us both. 
My blood is now on your hands, splashed across clean linen. 
My cells, splintered and traumatized by the fury of your whip, are now stowaway communities hiding in the suburban gloss of your presumably white body. 
Gestating in your purity. 
Every time you hit me, you will harden up or you will break down. 
In other words, even you won’t remain the same. Even you are torn apart. 
So don’t call this a Conquest. Your victory is not total. 
My defeat is not barren. 
And we both are not finished yet.

Bayo Akomolafe

1 Comment
  • Carolyn North on April 18, 2019

    Bayo, I send you a bow and a prayer. Love from one of your Mamas, Carolyn
    also to ask when you expect to start living in Vermont. My brother lives near Brattleboro and I visit often. He’s family, realize – a farmer and lovely man. You’ll like each other a lot!

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Falling might very well be flying – without the tyranny of coordinates.