| Nicolette Bethel |
soulmamaread by nicolette bethel 1. soulmama bend she back down to the hardweed ground soulmama sweat it roll it roll soulmama hand mud brown 2. soulmama born she baby in the treefrog night soulmama child he drown he drown soulmama fight she fight 3. soulmama slice she breast off with the slicing thing soulmama blood it bleed it bleed soulmama red soul sing  © Abdalrhman Abu Jabal Good Friday, Bleedingread by nicolette bethel Blood will have blood, they say, will have sons and lambs splayed out on stone, on wood, on altars stoked for conflagration, have lifeblood stroked on lintels, sacrifices eased by rams entangled in a thicket. Such a masculine salvation, visible, not invisible, streaming where all can perceive it, where all can be changed or not be changed, an iron storm that cleanses faces, sins and guilty hands. This is not the secret blood that smirches thighs and seeps from wombs; it’s scapegoat blood that quenches desert sands, the serpent-on-a-stick that cures on sight. This blood can heal when drawn from open wounds by scourges, nails, Gesthemene’s dark night. This is a public death, with darkness at noon; but mine is private, making white the midnight, scouring insides clean. Sevenling: Dancerread by nicolette bethel You danced him beautiful: Baron Samedi, Ghede, Papa Bones, your top hat, your black cane, your tails lifting and spinning, slick sweat on your chest, and the drum-beat, the kick-steps, the smiles white as bone. But lately you've grown stouter and stiffer and harder of fist: and dance her brutal. Nicolette Bethel was born and raised in Nassau, Bahamas, where she currently resides. Her work has been published in a variety of places, including The Caribbean Writer, qarrtsiluni, Anti-, Words-Myth, Eclectica, and The Avatar Review. |