NYU Black Renaissance Noire NYU Black Renaissance Noire Volume 16.2: Fall 2016 - Page 62
Sarafo was the only women I ever loved . At night I heard Sarafo ’ s voice : sensuous , forbidden , calm . I whispered to her . Smiled . When no one was looking I held her . She returned to eternity . The wherever world . Her smile serenaded me . I was cattle prodded often ; shocked-starved into silence whenever I thought about Sarafo . I remember her teeth impressions on the first apple we shared . Sarafo was silent yesterday . I am here I whispered . She did not know she was touching the man lying next to me on the deck of the ship , his shackles rusted by blood . I could not say I am over here . They would hear me . I reached for her in marbled darkness , a strange mercurial light . And I wrote words she would never read again : Are the freckles on your lips still covered with red leaf paste ? Do you remember the first day we giggled together ? Kissed ? Where is your soul now ? Your soul , Sarafo , what is that ? I saw Sarafo dead , breasts poached , discarded like busted melons , amongst broken eyeglasses on the corpse littered grass road leading to the New World ships . I heard frenzied bare feet trampling tall grass to dusty barrenness . What is this ? Who are these strangers ? A wide-eyed girl cried to her uncle in disbelief as he pushed her to the ground . Rough white hands grabbed her and said what I now understand to mean : Keep them moving . She was chained to the wooden deck on a ship . I saw the pulpy blood-crusted splinters in her feet and the color of the sun first blood-orange , then crimson , bleed .