with language repurposed from Jamaica’s 1760 Obeah law
Enquiring about a baptism
I call the stone church in a town
once named San José de Oruña. All my sins
on a gallery of spirit’s house—
floorboards groan, louvres
laden with dust. Cut my teeth
on prayers passed through sieves
of cloistered women. Those days
I counted rain spots on sagged celotex, wood slaves
languishing on walls. My face
like a canefield aflame. Each unmangling
opens a rusty trunk in my head—a mewl
falls out, then another. Living room corner
littered with yanked hair. Fistful
of coils constellating. Clutched hurts
by the throat for too long. I palm
a brink, studded with cowry and bone.
Smoke-tinged, shell-shocked: what wildness
pounds on the hatch, crests in the marrow?
Conjure-born / wreathed in jacaranda and seagrass / slow drip
of prayer / wayward believer counting Hail Marys / thanking Her
for intercessions / times blessings swung into my face like doors / whole
coconut for Ori / Yemoja Olokun consecrated soap / Marvin crooning
do you know the meaning / of being sanctified? / reminds me of Blue Boy
hearing / soca in Shouter bells / drum skins seethe / a wake of blood / I never
planned to return to pews / thirsty for holy water / fingertips plunge drench / tacked
onto a quilt / one small square flesh-toned / my exact shade lifted
from my lower back / yarn-haired effigy / thatched with saffron and snarl / I took
for me / I splay the belly’s ragged slash / tip out: grave dirt / alligators’ teeth / broken
bottles / eggshells / parrots’ beaks
—Soyini Ayanna Forde
Soyini Ayanna Forde’s (Twitter/X) poems and nonfiction appear in ANMLY, Moko, Apogee, Cleaver, and elsewhere. Her writing was named a notable essay in The Best American Essays and nominated for a Pushcart. A 2023 Tin House Workshop alumna and Periplus Fellow, she received support to attend the Key West Writers’ Workshop and holds an MFA from University of Southern Maine’s Stonecoast program. Rooted in Trinidad and Tobago and Guyana, she lives, writes, and tree gazes in Florida.