Bloodsong

Tony Medina    

Didn't I tell you
that the heart
is a mouth
on paper
that the paper
is a flame
split into lips
pursed like an arrow
and that arrow
bleeds into the drum
of one's tongue
trapped in memory's ear
Didn't I tell you
it is hard
for the wound
to forget
the migrating blood
forced out
by exile
or eviction
that one man's journey
is another man's
fast removal
from the face
of the earth
that some travel
in the hulls
of slave ships
while others
hug the bottom
of rafts
swallowing
oceans
of mud