Becoming Human/Matters of Time
by JAKAILA SCAIFE
in Spring 2022
Ani Lacy, What is a Nation: Daphne and Doris, 2022
Becoming Human
Emerging between thick thighs,
singing a welcoming song adjusting to light
having rested within black infinity,
still as sand,
yet surging with pure energy,
plugged into life’s power grid with ease
how easily laughter earthquakes the gut,
iridescent intervals of stretching towards the sun
chartered with rulers and markings on the wall.
treeing tall in overflowing curiosity,
breathing away bounds of right and wrong.
No memory of purgatory fear,
so why not jump into orange lakes,
play hopscotch with frogs,
hide n’ go seek with lizards,
dig underground tunnels with shoveled hands,
or bear naked glory?
Steadily deciphering mania of mind
from matter to melody,
by blood and heart
accepting one’s family,
in sickness and health
heaven married to hell,
hidden in joints, greetings, and years
of undigested emotions,
processed with oxtails and red rice,
washed down with iced tea
because you cannot forget the lemon,
or drops of honey
melting madness into distant dreams,
once resistance to self-love seems quite ridiculous.
Ain’t it funny how
sticks and stones may edifice towers,
but sacred words may shape the soul?
old fairy tales showing consequences of character,
upon shedding the skin of selfishness.
Puncturing pride with thick needles of humility,
less reddening than society
slamming you against white concrete,
to throw passion into the abyss of conformity,
a resounding chorus of “That’s just the way it is.”
Hearts buried in the past
may never beat to the rhythm of now,
too busy sampling yesterday’s track of if.
The old folks say
she plead the fifth and drunk away the day,
carrying secrets to the grave,
passin’ down pain like school lunches
and strawberry milk,
cowrie shells fortelling futures
of good times,
where balance is restored
earth no longer chored
with humans’ listful ignorance
of interdependence.
She prayed for repentance
and saved every penny,
while he grinded the bone,
work helmet fastened to hand down
lessons of diligence and sacrifice,
together stitching a quilt
woven with unquenched thirst for better,
wanting wetter rain of harvest.
first amending falling curses
to bless deer-eyed babies,
who knew not their terror of living
behind masked smiles and aching muscles.
They sprout into eternal gratitude and honor
for warrior teachers,
who planted them on the path
of becoming human.
Matters of Time
Until seasonings of pain
slowly marinate away,
flavoring trials of error
grateful when supple hands
reveal cracks in consciousness,
curtailed in tall tales
routinely told for aggrandizement and vigor.
Stocks of laughing sentiments
hung on straw lines,
strengthened with garden twine
and a lil’ bit of rigor,
wringed from flapping gums
properly matched with peppermint cap fulls,
washing words of waste
to taste sweet silence,
found in humble napes
and places creviced along Walden ponds.
Thoroughly portaled to Niled river deltas
and dented mountaintops.
Never high enough
to protect against calming quakes
and ground oneself in the midst of torrid tornadoes,
that encompass the angst and might
of blackened feathers,
dripped in Atlantic ink
and used to letter stormy weather.
Paged ahead in the land of the red-foots
who braved near destruction,
adorning descendants
with ancient tools of construction
in homage to dome-shaped homes,
resisting the fallacy of islanding alone.
Until I stretches to we,
and novice neos take heed
to Umi utterances of Ubuntu
on bended knee,
baskets and braids weaved to carry oral ‘ditions
for future generations
unknowingly fating tasks
of receiving battered batons,
tearful reflections of kinships
torn apart and steered in deadly division,
reunited with 20/20 vision.
Until bipedal speaking creatures
learn to respect the cradle
on which they rest,
starve selfishness and greed,
confess to horrids of history
and stolen chimes,
we shall continue to live in interesting times
when empires eventfully fall,
concepted walls humpty down
spiritual soldiers and soul mates meet
at the feet of a closing door
and developing dimension.
Where spiritual warfare
and uprisings tension
a reliance to unfleeting faith,
in that which cannot be measured
consumed
shipped
stolen
or displaced,
as the cord of connectivity,
infinite,
boundless,
and innate.
Born in Bartow, Florida I am a storyteller, poet, spoken word artist, curriculum developer, and educational consultant. After graduating from Florida Agricultural and Mechanical University with a B.S. in History, I self-published my first collection of poetry entitled Metamorphosis. I also started an online platform and educational consulting company that teaches children and adults about the healing power of writing- Sesheta Speaks, LLC. I am currently working on my second book, and reside in Tallahassee, Florida.