I. 

that sensation again

the magnetic pull of ocean sediment
settling on   forming   my skeleton

the ghosts of those thrown overboard
collecting melanin deposits from the atlantic's floor

sending it to me in waves
giving my skeleton the skin it lacks

monetaria moneta yielding up its protective shells
giving me eyes of cowrie, the whites like porcelain


II. 

I light gardenia incense
for the flower in Lady Day's hair.

Talk to plants sensitive to the vibrations
that accompany her visitation.

Open my windows to untethered wind
to roam as is its wont.

I can breathe.

Oxygen is an angel in my personal pantheon.


III.

The door of no return is a fallacy
I think
as she forms in my mind
small, bathed in indigo
eyes gleaming like the shells
adoring my wrist.

The river niger flows from her tongue
shards of spanish slashing the surface
the closer to the atlantic
her body was borne.

I offer her my smile, my name
and lineage
situating myself at the end 
of her continuum.

What you have just read are the introductory poems of my currently unnamed verse novel. I plan on serializing it here, online, sort of like what was done with Charles Dickens’ novels in the 19th century. New chapters will be uploaded biweekly.