Size / / /

The Earthmen come to my bedside

because I am the last

and there is no one else

to dance and sing for me.

It is so right, the sound,

the intonation, the grief

in their chanting, I forget—

almost—that I taught them

each to speak their alphabets,

the once and ancient way

we have done everything.

There are no children of my blood

because I have failed under the eye

of history to make a family

with another fullblood,

the wrong desires, wrong genes.

The children of my breath sing

and sing as though we had not gone

before them, as if tomorrow

there would still be beauty

in the islands to sing about.

Of course: the beach at Tuara,

the snow of Kek Auna, always

the surf against the rocks,

always the royalty out dancing.

The land has made us what we are.

Islands empty of us,

do my people still remain

in the slow-limbed, short-throated,

cold bodies who traveled here from Earth?




Mary Alexandra Agner
Current Issue
22 Apr 2019

The Myriad Drumbeats of Afrofuturism: Afro-Brazilian Speculative Fiction 
Variations on a Name: The -Punks of Our Times 
Quiet Places and Dark Spaces 
Eurydice Stands with Attitude 
Podcast: Eurydice Stands with Attitude 
By: Rebecca Bennett
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Monday: Tentacle by Rita Indiana 
,
Wednesday: Our Child of the Stars by Stephen Cox 
,
Friday: The Doll’s Alphabet by Camilla Grudova 
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