Drisana Deborah Jack

what if in the beginning
the word was flesh
&the flesh became salt

then what we saw &see in re/play
&re/wind
couldn’t be contained
in sound/bytes and pixels
in high definition video
there is not enough resolution
no understanding for this
reclaiming of the salt of the earth
to the sea
&it’s always the children
whose spirits are stronger
whose souls are more prepared
whose grip on the earth is fragile

&so mothers try to keep them
ignoring the call of the ocean
&the futility of this madness
mothers who bargained with the salt
to offer up one or two or five
to save just one
the salt of her womb

this unspeakable sacrifice of salt
like in the beginning
when the flesh was salt

even now/still the salt of a sea displaced
works its way into the corners of my eyes
&i see a man on his knees
in the sand
lighting incense to honor his ancestors
who were his children last Sunday
but that day we all looked for our gods
in the debris

somewhere in the mass of graves
the confusion of the missing
among the tangle of limbs
the wail of the living
the whirl of relief
we look for a place to bury our grief

somewhere in between
the sharing of a bowl of rice
the embrace of a stranger
in the rising of the sun
&the waning of the moon
with the glow of funeral pyres
&candlelight vigils on our faces

we become the salt
we become the salt
we become the salt

we become the salt
&inherit the earth

Jack, Drisana Deborah. Skin. House of Nehesi Publishers, 2006.