Crucifixion on the Atlantic
Dublin Core
Description
A poem by Daniel Adejombo
Creator
Date Available
2023
Subject
Months--Poetry
Poetry
Poetry
Language
en-US
Type
text
Format
Identifier
Adejombo_Crucifixion 01.jpg
Adejombo_Crucifixion 02.jpg
Adejombo_Crucifixion.pdf
Adejombo_Crucifixion 02.jpg
Adejombo_Crucifixion.pdf
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Source
Rights
Copyright protected by Daniel Adejombo. Use of materials from this collection beyond the exceptions provided for in the Fair Use and Educational Use clauses of the U.S. Copyright Law may violate federal law. Permission to publish or reproduce is required.
Publisher
Scripto
Transcription
Note on transcription: This transcription may not reflect the poetic form established by the poet. Please refer to the PDF file of this poem available in the Files section for proper formatting.
Crucifixion on the Atlantic
The year I turned fifteen,
The carpet of our house finally fell to my father’s foot.
Every night he stomped the floor in effervescent worship,
While his palms struck themselves and occasionally,
My sister’s cheeks when the hymn wasn’t draining her lungs
Of every sound her tiny vocal tracts could produce,
To praise the man our ancestors were told
Died and lived that we may be free
From our devil, black devil, dark-skinned devil—
Soon the devils were fettered to the boats
That had brought the messengers of this good news,
Exorcised by their own brothers
Who were also slaves—
Far from the ships sailing the Atlantic—
But slaves to the deception that had been sowed in their hearts.
Curse that sea!
Why should I be baptized in the sea
Where our fathers were thrown off like luggage—
Like?
They were luggage,
And at their owner’s discretion, they were disposed.
Curse that sea!
Why should I wash myself anew in the sea
Where our mothers’ bodies transfigured into wild game
To be devoured by men with skin as bland as their hearts?
No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! NO!
BLESS THAT SEA!
The Atlantic where our fathers and mothers
Committed their spirits
Maybe we should be washed in this sacred sea,
sanctified in their blood that remained in their veins as they drowned,
In their cries for mercy below worn-out decks,
In their plea for freedom at the hands of death
Granted by the endless depth of the sea.
Crucifixion on the Atlantic
The year I turned fifteen,
The carpet of our house finally fell to my father’s foot.
Every night he stomped the floor in effervescent worship,
While his palms struck themselves and occasionally,
My sister’s cheeks when the hymn wasn’t draining her lungs
Of every sound her tiny vocal tracts could produce,
To praise the man our ancestors were told
Died and lived that we may be free
From our devil, black devil, dark-skinned devil—
Soon the devils were fettered to the boats
That had brought the messengers of this good news,
Exorcised by their own brothers
Who were also slaves—
Far from the ships sailing the Atlantic—
But slaves to the deception that had been sowed in their hearts.
Curse that sea!
Why should I be baptized in the sea
Where our fathers were thrown off like luggage—
Like?
They were luggage,
And at their owner’s discretion, they were disposed.
Curse that sea!
Why should I wash myself anew in the sea
Where our mothers’ bodies transfigured into wild game
To be devoured by men with skin as bland as their hearts?
No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! NO!
BLESS THAT SEA!
The Atlantic where our fathers and mothers
Committed their spirits
Maybe we should be washed in this sacred sea,
sanctified in their blood that remained in their veins as they drowned,
In their cries for mercy below worn-out decks,
In their plea for freedom at the hands of death
Granted by the endless depth of the sea.
Files
Collection
Citation
Daniel Adejombo, “Crucifixion on the Atlantic,” Mississippi State University Libraries, accessed December 22, 2024, https://msstate-exhibits.libraryhost.com/items/show/2283.
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