them bones
them bones will
rise again
them bones
them bones will
walk again
them bones
them bones will
talk again
now hear
the word of the Lord.
                            - Traditional

atlantic is a sea of bones.
my bones.
my elegant afrikans
connecting whydah and new york, 
a bridge of ivory.

seabed they call it.
in its arms my early mothers sleep.
some women leapt with babies in their arms. 
some women wept and threw the babies in. 

maternal armies pace the atlantic floor.
i call my name into the roar of surf
and something awful answers.