Vodou

Brother slaves, we are going home.

Serve the spirits, and be happy.

I stand before you as Saint Gerard,

Among skulls and lilies,

Holding thunderstones.

Dahomey, the slave ships are leaving,

The kings sell their people for weapons and booze.

Brother slaves of Africa,

I am Fon and Yoruba,

Serve the spirits,

Be good like water, like earth.

This is Ginen,

The realm of the dead,

On the far side of the world,

Where souls attain their purity,

Made immortal and all-knowing.



Poor mortal, take guard.

Which spirit crouches on your head, fool,

And watches with big eyes?

Beware, who seeks to enlists evil spirits:

Though they may be flattered and cajoled

And assist the sorcerer in his works,

As suddenly will they turn on you

And devour you alive, without mercy,

Sucking the life from your flesh.



Danbala the serpent

Glides into my dreams,

Whispering omens,

And a rainstorm falls from the trees.



At the beginning of time,

The Great Serpent protected the earth

From sinking into the waters

By twining itself around the earth and into the sky,

And scattered stars,

Pushed up mountains,

Hollowed out riverbeds.

From its deepest core it released rain

To seed the earth,

And as the first showers fell,

A rainbow lit up the sky,

And the Serpent took her as his wife.



The black goat’s blood

I pour over your altar,

I am Baron Samedi in the boneyard,

Raising the dead with a cackle,

Putting my key in the door of death.

I caper like a goat

In top hat and frock coat,

Smoke tobacco with the spirits,

Shake my walking stick at the sky.

I change men into animals,

Make zombies of the living.

From the coffin of my phallus,

From the black cross of my body,

From the moon of my skull,

I come forth.



On All Souls’ Day black-and-purple people

Crowd into the graveyards,

Bringing victuals and tobacco for the spirits,

Pouring libations of rum and coffee

At the feet of their family crosses,

Adorning them with marigolds, candles and skulls.

Devotedly, they kneel and clean beloved tombs,

Swill rum and carouse with abandon,

Chanting lewd songs and dancing like lunatics,

Horses mounted by laughing spirits,

Ridden to exhaustion, round and round.

Spirits strut and jig around the boneyards,

Hurling bawdy jokes and ribald gestures,

Flirting and cursing and pranking,

Brandishing wooden phalluses,

As they rub themselves with lust.



The thunderstone speaks.

My finger traces a vever in the ground.

At the cemetery gates sits Baron Samedi, grinning,

In frock coat and tails and top hat,

Eyes hidden behind sunglasses,

Twirling his walking stick

And blowing smoke rings out through his ears,

“You want to make a zombie, yes?

You want to change into an animal?”