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7
Lowering my boat into running waters
I paddled out to sea. Midway the horizon
I anchored—A fisherman of memories,
I once more baited my mind’s fishing line
with pages of ancestral truths: then
waited the reeling in of ghost voices.
At sunset—mental basket full,
I paddled back to shore
and built a fire and gathered
the children to savor
and share the day’s hefty catch.
Beneath the glowing moonlight
excited orbs reflected
the fire of knowledge
as we sat and sang songs
praising ancestral fishermen
of great African empires…
Beneath the glowing moonlight
we sat and sang songs
praising those ancestral fishermen
of the transatlantic journey…
Beneath the glowing moonlight
we sat and sang songs
praising those ancestral fishermen
of waters still teeming with injustice…
Tomorrow I shall again lower oars—
paddle out into the sea of running waters:
baiting my mind’s fishing line with wiggling justice…
