Maya

Where did the light in Arkansas begin? Where it could burn: spirit-flame, or be Snuffed out in an exclusive smothering. If her strength lies in the dirt of Stamps, it lies Wildly, from an unpredictable birth, to a Breeze moving over a place of hurts. It wasn't the mystery, but the resilience of the move That taught Jim Beam and Jim Crow to coexist, That showed how night-madness can free a soul. And in between the leaves of trees, growing in size To produce enough inviting shade, (Despite mean drunkenness that smashes things) I will recall the effervescence of unhinged singing, Octaves, turned into fantastic resolve to steady Itself, not letting sadness undermine miracles. Lovers were put in their proper places; the rich, The poor, the baffled ones unable to duly understand How the stage leads to pulpits; how Europe leads to Memphis. Recitation becomes its own furious life, Shaping the cage and the escaping song, Roaming to the bowels of nowhere, to Where everyone has a home, occasionally, in winter. There, we can smile lovingly in the faces Of future martyrs who showed their gaunt holes Made by bullets, taunts and screams. What words can do amazes the flesh, leaving The mind to dwell on outhouse beginnings, or mist Thick enough to hide God's uncanny sleight of hand That takes a woman to where she deeply desired.