DRIVING ABOUT THE POEM
When She Carried a Calabash
for Katherine Dunham
by Adrian Castro
They said the calm calabash will spill
I say
the calm calabash will spill
There was no particular destination
these vines crawled
generously
defying gravity up
the stucco'd wall up
la mata de ParaìSO
Magically opening a venous path
curled like a juju-man's caduceus
un baston Babalawo
Ifa ni Eromasunka - Hìn
Mo ni Eromasunka - Hìn
Subtle
hammocked below the dense leaves
propped proudly
the amber calabach
(Not so many know
it was used to house the first lantern -
she packed it with nutmeg & myrrh
the herbs of Maravilla & Marilope
Orosùs Romerillo Rosemary
red palm oil spilled for fuel
She lit the path to the river
when they traveled from island to island
thirsty
(the path to the river)
Down the Tamiami Canal
she carried the calabash down Calle Ocho
Beginning en los Everglades
balanced between braids & brass beads
she embraced it with both hands
down the coral-lined trench
the muddy gun-range
the erratic awkwardly placed sprawl
the concrete overpass
down the storefronts
the successive botanicas
the nostalgic cafes
with the thick ting of Chapotìn's trumpet
snuggled by fertile coconuts trees
she danced wave-like down to NE 2nd avenue
diggin' the golden brown murales of
the days when boogie-woogie & big band proclaimed the actual
story
like Melton with the crescent embouchure
Through Wynwood
still on NE2nd
todo el mundo swiveling hips
frying bacalaitos
waves of abichuelas bluped
al son de Tito's timbal
to Giovanni's secret hand
Eddy Gua-Gua's cruise down baby bass harmony
When she carried a calabash in Buena Vista
into Little Haiti, North Miami
only her name changed
Ezuli po mago
they said through the klewon
theRara drums walking on Boulou's hands
a constant tick-tock of skins jockeying
the eco of Morriseau-Leroi's exiled Kreolizations
bouncing through the mystical market of language
Ifa ni Eromasunka - Hìn
Mo ni Eromasunka - Hìn
Now turning her way back home
she carried a calabash back home
down to the Oleta River
she stopped for the children of Abeng
those Jamaican conch blowersEver
who notified fish
wise fish
in an ancient tone she knew -
Everyone was home
now
She collected some of our objects of sound
in the end
laced them side by side ensnaring them
In the end -
a net circling the calabash wich wh shaken
would sound off a call -
Ifa ni Euromasuka -Hin
Mo ni Euromasuka - Hin
They said the calm Calabash will spill
I say
the calm Calabash will spill
