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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.
Bio
Daniel Djembe is from Lagos, Nigeria. Mr. Adejombo is a junior, double majoring in
Economics and Philosophy with the hopes of making it into law school when
he graduates. His non- academic interests are mostly musical; he enjoy playing guitar and
piano, and listening to jazz, blues, rock, reggae, soul, neo-classical compositions, and of
course Nigerian popular music.
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.
Bio
Daniel Djembe is from Lagos, Nigeria. Mr. Adejombo is a junior, double majoring in
Economics and Philosophy with the hopes of making it into law school when
he graduates. His non- academic interests are mostly musical; he enjoy playing guitar and
piano, and listening to jazz, blues, rock, reggae, soul, neo-classical compositions, and of
course Nigerian popular music.