On That Same Fifth Day
(der. from “Pledge Allegiance” by Natalie Scenters-Zapico and “On the Fifth Day” by Jane Hirshfield)
When they dredged the dead river, some were surprised by what they found.
Some were not.
A mother’s left ear.
Seeds that slipped off the drawbridge as it parted
to let slave ships and cruise ships through
and through again.
Seeds whose coats had become so hardened
they were unable to receive Mama Earth in the black-blue deep.
It is time to summon all the Mothers
to pockets on fire
and purses filled with tears.
Then it will be time to sit at their feet,
Black Madonnas all,
ask for the stories of ash.
First. Cover all your years of self in it.
Second. Eat it like charcoal to treat your overdose.
The Ash is an ancient tree
whose seeds begin dormant
who germinate only when we tend them in gathered silence
dropped down to our knees.
You are a tender.
You are a seed.
This will happen on the Fifth Day.
- Coke Tani, 01.28.25