Spices.

Cinnamon, Rosemary, Pepper, Nutmeg, Cloves, Aleppo Pepper, Ancho Powder, Cacao Powder, Carribean Spice

My blood Runs with the Crucifixtion of those Diamonds and Minerals you wanted.

 

Chives, Cilantro, Citrus, Curry Leaves, Dill Seed, Demarara Seasonings, of that Child Who Dared to Grow.

Columbus the last flavor Seeker to Britain Who Encapsuled the Jewel of their crown from an Indian Science Major's Beaker

 

Dried Mushrooms, Fennel Seed, Garlic Jalapenos hot enough to squeezer and Burn into a Native American's eyes, more poisionous than the bitter sting of Alcoholism & Inflamed Small Pox,

More inflamed than a black-stabbed Indian; But not Bindhis, the Ones with Feathers, The ones who's lasting Effect was the one who Helped You Survive, On more than just a hope to rape pillage & burn for the same Gold & Minerals Cortes Searched for in the eyes of a Hernandez

 

Mayan Coco, Mexican Oregano, these things have not been savored. 

But isn't that what Columbus Wanted? Just a little flavor?

 

Paprika doused in the firey womb of a Tamika, whose name will get her resume thrown Out, whose name Your People have hatred to Spout. 

Sage, Serrano, Smoked Hickory, Smoked Tea Rub, Smoked Applewood Pepper, A prayer for a Child That No One Beleves Can do Better,

Spearmint Leaves & Sirracha Powders, White boys growing up Believing that Black women are only Shouters, who secretly wanted it. 

Who spilled their Blood On the Diamond,

Who encapsuled the Jewel in that Crown,

Who Columbus got lost looking for.

When John Smith said "Those who will not work, Won't Eat" Did his future Sons & Daughters Starve to Death on their Plantations of Blood accidentally Spilled on Our Diamonds, Our Railroads, Our Internment Camps, Our Civil War?

But no. There's just their cabinet drawer, Filled with Cinnamon, Rosemary, Pepper, Nutmeg, Cloves & More.

All Spices Columbus swore he looked for.  Not one of these spices was a clear crystal white like salt, thrown into the whipping scars of our men, of our raped and tattered women. 

Have fun with your dry Turkey

Ground from the eyes of the slave trade and the Speeches of Carmichael first name Stokely. 

 

This poem is about: 
My country
Our world

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