Elegy to the Desirable, Lilɔk Black Woman
I left my bones to the fish shores of Chutes de La Lobé;
& my sister sang azɔp as I fell through the window shelf
—my tangibility a sin. Finally
I’d have morphed into womanhood; a serene water miengu,
with bejeweled, naked breasts & blue–pearled fish scales.
Bathed in clams & dúndúns, I’d worship my God
& ritual while cultivating calamus & gnetum for holy oil
in the greened botanical gardens of Limbé.
Enjambed in this pseudo-dimension, I cease to exist.
In our language, there is no word for “sexual being”
so you translate sex for men & industrialize naked fish bodies
where there are no gold-scaled mermaids. Objectified,
water no longer signifies stillness of mind —
but its body traps & kills & begs for hunger.
So does mine.
I am no longer a temporary projection of your desirability.
My dismembered tail is cut in fours & feeds bloodthirsty humans,
but I bleed deception, not blood.
where your dimension is an appendage for my existence.
My once bejeweled breasts are now pierced & painted red;
an opening pathway to hypersexuality. Transitioning,
I am now a sexual being. My brain is split in two
because I am only desirable if I cannot feel my body.
My god watches & I feel his tears as the ocean drawdowns
— & my body is washed away.
I have yet to return.
earth temples & generational gifts
Bienvenue to the holy temple of my ancestral lineage / we worship our past ancestors / & look to the sky to see the sun reflecting its warmth on Mother Earth / & look to the sky in search of God / & look to the sky in search of hands that will protect our children from earth’s cries / Gold blood gushes out of my uterus / & bedding wets me dry / Red / I temporarily abandon myself / & become a woman / & understand sense of self / & explore nirvana’s alternate “selves” / Ingrained in African blood is agony found in the intricacies of stolen dialect / & ingrained in our mothers are mute bodies of Earth birthed to kill / We cry from harsh whips that pierce through our skin / & yet, the generational pain that a mother passes onto her child is only preparation for pain the child awaits / Mother Earth birthed the trees & the skies / but we discarded the sacred tongues that once guided us to life
Ryhanna Mbakop (she/her) is a Cameroonian-American poet born and raised in the suburbs of Maryland and an incoming Freshman at the University of Pennsylvania. An Adroit Journal Summer Mentorship and Kenyon Young Writers Workshop mentee, she has received National awards from YoungArts and the Alliance for Young Artists and Writers. Her work intertwines contemporary societal issues with traditional Cameroonian folklore and mythology. You can primarily find her work in Eucalyptus Lit, MEARI, The Elite, and elsewhere.