Bitten Tongues Bleed

Little voices tell me to be careful.
They live in
Flat, black lakes where ripples mean you
keep your fingers closed in case they bite,
And fishing boats dare not sail past
midnight,
Where men and women used to sing of freedom,
sway in line,
Sun bleached shirts and older-brother shorts,
Flash lights blinking at phosphorous whispers.

In early morning,
Throwing their nets high into a speckled
blue egg mist,
We let our children fish with nets,
And tongues rolled with open discord,
Voices cracked and roared in open seas,
And the fish, crabs and langoustine
Spilled into our split-gold varnished boats,
Beating their tails on splintered floors,
Curled their earth-red jointed legs tight around our nets.
My grandfather wiped his pipe across his shirt,
Spat seawater in the spray,
And speaking truths to the younger men and women,
Told us to be proud
of the ugly honesty of our lives.

But now we speak in whispers.
The storm slipped a sullen beast
Into our river.
He preys on us,
His brown silk body entices us to follow him,
They dropped their nets, we did not see them,
They followed, eyes closed,
Their heads sunk
in muddied waters, ‘till they came back to us,
Their mouths hungry,
They snapped at our words, tore meat from
the bones of our thoughts,
And cried we were not worth
the skins we lived in.

We watched in wonder as our mouths
fought to find the words to free them.
“Who has created this monstrosity?” our grandfather shouted,
“Speak carefully,” a child hushes his mother,
Small fingers pressed to feathered lips,
“And it will leave.”
The mother and my grandfather
Shook their heads, and with all their might
Pulled the children from the water,
And we sang from the depths of our souls
Until they stopped their ears with bleeding fists and slept.

Our village beat the beast with oars,
Drove him to the mangrove swamp filled with summer’s tide,
And forced him to the sea.
“You cannot stop me from returning,
I smell their sweetness, minds to feed. Can you smell them?
They are enamoured of me,”
the beast told my grandfather.
“And so is Life”, my grandfather sighed and then spoke gently
at the beast,
“I was a child when we heard your song, I was enraptured
by its beauty as you pulled me then from beach to sea.
Skin now lies thinly on my bones, but my voice is stronger
for the fight.
Rouse us from our slumber, Beast!
Stop our words, silence our tongues
And our oars will beat you,
Our boats forever charge you to the deep.
Beast, you rouse us from our sleep.”