my head first popped out in the dark continent

.

my head first popped out in the dark continent 

and i extended my hands like the goddess nut to tickle the underside of india

i let the golden dew of the sun drip on my stomach, slow as syrup

my name means burning, searing bird of ashes 

i think i shed my ashes in the great lakes where i rest my feet

i wanted to be an archaeologist when i was younger 

try to dig up my bones and the bones of my family 

from the mocha colored dirt of africa 

my head first popped out in the dark continent

and i still haven’t gotten it back 

(but no shovel can dig that deep, and ain’t no ship that can take me there no more) 

—interlude

my head first popped out in the dark continent 

but i’ve been reborn a thousand times and i’ll be 

reborn again and again. 

the earth speaks in cryptic languages 

from centuries of millions of people living upon it 

but i think the earth speaks ghetto. 

broken english mixed with phrases that come from people 

who never got the chance to learn the language 

picked up from here to there. 

in africa, people pop out of the ground like trees 

with roots that dig farther than the core of the earth 

burning up like the hearth. 

from the inside where it’s roaring like a furnace 

where the sun rolls down your neck 

whispering where have you been?

..

so my head popped out on the dark continent

my arms reach out and tickle the underside of india and iran

my hair is lost in the seabed of the indian ocean

but my heart? it is beating in my chest like a cannon, like a gun—

alive and roaring with century-old turmoil

my head popped out with the shouts of my ancestors 

an african without any memory; an american without any privilege

i am the plight of the african american. i am the cry for survival 

i am the search for the bones and spirit of the lost ones

the ones like me whose head first popped out in the dark continent