Curvaceous Black Sappho in White Shoes
(After Nona Faustine’s Photograph, “From My Body
I Will Make Monuments In Your Honour”)
Through the refraction of sunlight a new morning shines
in the cemetery that once swallowed three slaves. Her
statue-like three-dimensional body is posited like Gaia.
A confident brave body; dark but rinsed and rinsed in
light and life: A synopsis of authenticity. When the graves
whisper the slaves’ names she just stares straight ahead
dipping her body into the vaporous burial garden. The heat
settles on her skin and her body delights in the horizon.
She is wildly sprinkling sizzle across the landscape and
she is howling. Howls are part of herself. That’s why she
doesn’t mind so much the sweating. Her body swells like
an inexhaustible water spring. Lightning issues from her
foamy tongue. The earth trembles with her roars of rage.
Although ample memories of the past reverberate through
her curves, she’s present tense.—A body confronting the
tough reality of the now. She has no weapon but a pair of
white high-heeled shoes: A synopsis of sublime highness.
She plants her fears and sadness in between the dunes of
her body.—That the body is the self, and the self is the voice.
There is no cotton anymore. Face is covered, but the ears
are wide open to hear the oracles of the sky and those
of the underground. Her body is chanting the slaves’ sighs.
Her body is tolling like a bell: a farewell to fears / farewells
to fear! Although she’s been silently screaming the litany of
abuses that she inherited with this body, this body is but a
shrilling voice enough to make monuments. A body that
rhymes with any word that is against any coercive aesthetics.