The river darks with tarblood and small bones. The current
escapes North and carries Chatahoochee down the face of
Osun. Yemoja cries with her. Olokun waits
on the boys to arrive as ash and element.
Till my sweet boys return as mineral.
Till my mineral boys sweeten the water.
His paling flesh mirrors hands who dip him home to us.
Jamal: the algae’s greening. Malik and all his calcium decorate
the floor. These pearls were once teeth before the water’s
whittle and polish. Who said Black boys can’t swim?
Edythe Rodriguez is a Philly-based copywriter, hardcore Bustelo drinker and non-violent Beyhive member. She loves neo-soul, battle rap, and long walks through old poetry journals. Edythe has received fellowships from PEN America, Hurston/Wright, The Watering Hole, and Brooklyn Poets. Her work is either published or forthcoming in Obsidian, Brown Sugar Literary, Call and Response Journal, and Alebrijes Review. Follow more of her work at edytherodriguez.com or on social media at @edythejai.
