On Cave Hill Campus
for Kendel Hippolyte

if I could say your face,
I’d have seeds to sew,
gospel to spread, spread of marmalade,
mama-made bread

if I could say your face
naturally growing beard, going white
locks like pods of seeds about your face,
about your head

if I could say your face
your head hangs down, heavy,
not with sorrow, not with worries,
with a warrior’s plans

if I could say your face,
a nation in Jah’s name, out of ashes, might appear

but I haven’t a thousand words
to make a face to show the world

John the Baptist, his head upon a platter,
Salome wrung his neck like a chicken’s

a phone number, a wrong number

head of John the Baptist ringing
like a phone off the hook


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2006
7:55 p.m. 11/july/06