I want to tell my-story, our-story <br />not his-story stripped of my-story <br /> <br />I am going back to our-story <br />streaked with rust along the bow <br />trimmed by his-story to wake the dead <br />and frighten off living souls still staring <br />at where the lizard pulsed in the sun <br />and a false pawpaw tree strangles palm-trees <br /> <br />I am going back to our-story <br />before his-story told our-story <br />to rewrite our-story forgotten in his-story <br />not the ragged wilderness where raccoons live <br />it is the home where starlings stare down the doves, <br />and the sun comes out of the groves and shines <br /> <br />this will be our-story told in our story <br />where faded flowers come walking alive <br />back and forth in front of his-story <br />making bearded rabbis wring their hands <br />sending ghosts of Mungo Park to where <br />barracuda waits in slack tides<br /><br />Padmore Enyonam Agbemabiese<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sankofa/
