Poem 8.12.21: Fruits of NewOrleans

The Fruits of NewOrleans
Has life bleached you 
and left you barren?

Not life you protest?!?
Who then, Huck Fin?


I been where you’ve been
poked,
plucked and
scraped of all that
they called a stain,
all that which held you sain.

Saliva and tears whether your skin,
and sooth your bones,
pecks and scores leave hope
as your flesh is plowed for a new harvest.

Salt may run through you,
Sin may consume you.
And still I promise,
your fruit is sweet,
I’ve tasted
its meat.

Your fields are soiled,
still less barren than
the sands of Carthage.

Your beached body, knows a home in the sun, even as it begs for ocean.

Young vessel, you are no empty grave.
Tough vessel, you are no futile tool.
Hung vessel, you were not made for this.

Unpin your soul,
release the shield,
turn new, and roll.
Abandon assigned hues,
let the sun know you,
name you,
and claim you as
kin among stars.

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