for Baba Marcus

sweet is
        the stillness that welcomes dawn
        bird calls heralding the sun
        sunrise over the river
                each ripple of water 
                        reflecting new palettes of color
                                more dazzling than the last
one day closer to fulfillment of Ancestral dreams

sweetness is
        endless expanse of blue sky overhead
        unobstructed rays of light
        wide-winged birds soaring above in gentle arcs
        seated on a low stump in a logging battlefield
                at the edge of dense forest 
                        with quiet certitude 
                                in the end, the trees will win

the sweet life is
        old folk humming softly in the porch shade of a hot day
        the harmony of rocking chair creak 
                back and forth
                back and forth
                        like waves on the shoreline
                                the ebb and flow of sea-foam tickling toes
        soft sighs of sleeping baby 
                rise and fall of tiny chest
                        against one much broader, deeper
                                made wise by many rises and falls
	                                 and rise again

reincarnation of sweetness washes away residue
        of stolen sugar cane
                silver spoon rounding empty teacup
                        stuffy sitting room
                                disintegrating pages of false narratives
                                        penned by subdued spirits and rotten teeth
	engulfed in London fog

the sweetest sweetness is
        time measured by music’s cadence
                ground pulsating with rhythm
                        beloved bodies vibrating with bass line in the darkness
                                 atmosphere thick with cologne perfume musk
         dancing lovers melded in movement
                 hands pressed in passion on back and waist
                         face burrowed in the safe space between earlobe and neck hollow 
                                 aching with sweetness of what’s to come

the deep sweetness is
         Full Moon lighting night's velvet canvas
         amidst crowds of sparkling stars
         illuminating bolts of brilliant lightning 
                 backed by thunder's boom
                         night air animated with frog and cricket symphony
         soft droplets dampen ground and skin
                 still warmed by afterglow of summer's heat

the deepest sweetness is
        soft flicker of candleglow
	        casting shadows on nightfall 
                        lighting ancient memory
        drumbeats calling in the distance 
        the knowledge that even when alone
we are never alone
        spirit swelling with faith and love
                unmistakable whisper of ori at peace
                        yes, you are on the right path

 burn the blood-soaked cane fields
 We got all the sweetness we need

Author’s Note: I originally wrote this poem under an informal title this past spring (2023) for a friend following a period of time when we were supporting each other in giving up certain things. During that period, I’d given up sugar and, as reflected in the poem, was thinking a lot about sweetness and also how sugar came to be such a large part of our Western diets. (Short answer: chattel slavery.) I’m sharing this poem right now as I work on an essay about what those of us who are not Haitian or Black can learn from Bwa Kayiman / Bò kay Iman¹ - the five day Vodou ceremony and war counsel which sparked the most active and successful phase of the Haitian Revolution: history’s most powerful coup against colonization, white supremacy and, of course, chattel slavery. The 232nd anniversary of Bwa Kayiman was last week, and I thought it would be fitting to share this poem, given that at the time of the ceremony and the revolution, the main export of Ayiti (formerly known as Saint-Domingue, and at the time one of the most lucrative colonies in the world) was sugarcane.  

1. Among other scholars, Èzili Dantò of HLLN, #FreeHaiti believes the more common transcriptions Bois Caïman and Bwa Kayiman are incorrect, and fail to honor the manbo Iman or Inan who, along with Boukman, presided over the Vodou ceremony.