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Opitennin

Opitennin pitennin the landscape has no life no habitation no memory until there is a grave/crib under it – Márquez/Solitude See also NourbeSe ‘Meditations on CowPasture’ he morning that i stir within the narrow compost of my grave miraculously ash space move around my head to open out my eye the eyelids sticking down some time until they opening That i cd lift my head and shoulders’ shadows find arms & legs to shift the crisp & sound- less wind-like gravel for more company. push myself forward up sit there w/in the dark of worms & soft-stones for a while my nose allowing me to breathe the sticky myrrh of frankincense and bones . and somehow light here too . and space . more space . to push my fingers’ hands up thru the coral up. ward up. ward until i break into the peace and ancient sunlight of my birth my one eye seeing all small axe 54 • November 2017 • DOI 10.1215/07990537-4271962 © Kamau Brathwaite Published by Duke University Press Small Axe SX54 [ 11.2017 ] 41 the green the grass the distant tattoos on the trunks of trees and then the trees themselves . their http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Small Axe: A Caribbean Journal of Criticism Duke University Press

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Publisher
Duke University Press
Copyright
Copyright � Duke Univ Press
ISSN
0799-0537
eISSN
1534-6714
DOI
10.1215/07990537-4271962
Publisher site
See Article on Publisher Site

Abstract

pitennin the landscape has no life no habitation no memory until there is a grave/crib under it – Márquez/Solitude See also NourbeSe ‘Meditations on CowPasture’ he morning that i stir within the narrow compost of my grave miraculously ash space move around my head to open out my eye the eyelids sticking down some time until they opening That i cd lift my head and shoulders’ shadows find arms & legs to shift the crisp & sound- less wind-like gravel for more company. push myself forward up sit there w/in the dark of worms & soft-stones for a while my nose allowing me to breathe the sticky myrrh of frankincense and bones . and somehow light here too . and space . more space . to push my fingers’ hands up thru the coral up. ward up. ward until i break into the peace and ancient sunlight of my birth my one eye seeing all small axe 54 • November 2017 • DOI 10.1215/07990537-4271962 © Kamau Brathwaite Published by Duke University Press Small Axe SX54 [ 11.2017 ] 41 the green the grass the distant tattoos on the trunks of trees and then the trees themselves . their

Journal

Small Axe: A Caribbean Journal of CriticismDuke University Press

Published: Nov 1, 2017

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