Tropical undergrowth spurting up from the earth in fantastic green Caribbean fans and fountains,
I leave poreless black asphalt in Trinidad for an undeveloped Central American coast with another,
after distance dried out an abstract love,
while I lived lonely in reality,
and swarthy, wrinkled skin judged deep brown faces,
against racialized spaces in an unspoken, segregated Miami.
I close the chapter where the Nilotic, Trinidadian king rules like an ancient Nubian with me in another time,
in the Americas.
I lose my love with you in the solid glow of the Sahara,
in the gushing flow of the Nile,
in the gentility of the sea between us.
I mourn that the pyramid was just a monument for another to coddle,
and so the legend finishes with me asking:
Will you forgive me for choosing the present over the beginning of time and forever,
for burying a legend under the living of now,
for trading in one kingdom for another king,
Copyright © 2013 Nichelle Calhoun
* Golpe de Estado is Spanish for coup d’etat.