Paradise, Lost
by Ricci L. Niles
The Oracle predicted walls of waves
tempests, strange faces, strange tongues
places even stranger
In griot song, nights by fire and ritual dance
the elder never alluded
to how the story would end
or begin, for that matter
In the blackbox -no theatre-
in the galley hold
fetid with agony
tarred with human bile and all manners foul
starvation
scurvy crossed with bouts of homesick
Exiting through the
Door of No Return and spat out into
exile
Shipwrecks and mutinies
Northstar and sextets
could never accurately
pinpoint
the compass lines of cruelty
No nautical instrument
can ever gauge
the longitude of inhumanity
Critical masses
suffered the cancer
of massa’s whip
it metastasized, unchecked
for generations of
orphaned children
The hull
came to rest
on a uncharted reef
without name or language to call its own
Blown off course
by leeward, vagrant winds
charted and piloted by dark deeds
Cargo, lost
There are no blackboxes on slave ships.
On shore, the griot and the elder
try the tale, tell
But in the spaces,
only weeping.
About The Author
A Native New Yorker and published poet and writer, lover of all things poetry, piano, literature, and coffee- Ricci won numerous English Department and CUNY-wide achievements. Although rooted in the Liberal Arts tradition, she seeks to align her varied passions with her burgeoning pursuit of public interest law. Ricci is most proud of being an aunt to Tyler + Chase, and winning an Innovation Grant for alternative energy for Athgo/The World Bank Headquarters. She intends to author poetry and children’s books while pursuing multiple English and J.D. degrees.
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