A woman so far from the sea,
displaced and holding perch.
She chases the intoxicating flowers to the corners
of the earth, the ones that spin
a fury of fire in the body,
and turn the eyes to God.
She chases the intoxicating leaves
who bend her ear to heaven,
and move blood with Oya’s hand.
Soothing weary bones, breath
of the four winds in her heart,
lightening through nerve and fiber.
Jungle to hand, to market, she chases the intoxicating fruits,
A sweet hunter.
Colorful pulp and seeds of spice spilling
between her hands,
Crushed like wet sand, flesh
of the stars, and the dreams of trees.
Wet seeds of rebirth, released from soft chambers
into the mouth. Juices of Oshun,
pleasure of the tongue.
Food of the feathered serpent,
held ripe in the hands of the Sun.
She chases Danu’s skirt, the intoxicating waters,
Rivers that carry her through time.
Entering the banks,
waters as old as the oldest star,
Ra’s lilies delivering her to the belly
of the moon.
Come she asks, drink this juice.
Waters of the moon,
of the shaman’s vision, waters of Yemaya’s labor and tears,
Oceans whose depths you have been craving.
Drink this juice,
let it free you from fear.
Bring the dust of stars down
to earth, unlock the secret
whispers of your longing,
open your lips to drink again.