Dear Shango

owner of fire and me,

god of breaking hearts,

red and white you bleed,

all the while steadily leaking me,

saying I’m your favorite,

while others you keep,

I’m Oya to you,

lighting you are,

I’m struck again by

your  lightning rod,

struck repeatedly,

until no more,

all I could express

is Dear Shango.

 

-Oya

 

 

 

 

9:16 pm

And everything inside me smiled,

As I watched the yard-high African-American beauty queen, 

Dancing on the edge of my bed,

Fela style,

In a Disney princess nightie,

Teasing the ceiling fan breeze,

With arms swinging lightly in a hula-styled-orisha praise to the sound of the griots,

The griots who are massaging life into the air

from Taiwanese speakers.

I am close to God,

And In perfection

watching the beauty queen possess the light spirits of happiness and wonder,

In her movements.

I am close to God,

And In perfection.