I. Language Lesson
Yu wan lan di Krio, eh? Yu go tray, o!
Usay yu de?
A de Brooksfield.
A de to Aunty Sally.
A de Aunty Sally in os.
A de wakka.
A de swet!
A de cray, O! (A fred) A de cray al nayt.
A de fil am. Eh, bo, A de fil am bad bad wan.
pared wi try paraclete ear not dem
barefoot way de come to thee yu
love mango di teeth o to tear
the skin back but all the empty
tin sing ever so orange & green
pyramid pile at feet but ope
yourself paraclete ope yu ear
dis whispering exhaust we time afta time
palms de de of all in his
planted field tomorrow’s
husband dead her leaf in the hand
petete the leaf
II. Aunty
Grainy photo-
graphs of her boy. Her late bobo.
Shows us
in the
afternoon.
She does
not say
his name.
pikin wrapped his school jumper
belly full that cornflake on his baby
cheek o baby the sleeves end so
soon wrapped up the child is
gone gone pikin did he broke
he take the pikin share
the empty pikin pick her up
she memba (bele full of him) & now
her other baby (jillo) with a baby
(belefull) & where wi go
down dat place where di baby come
after room full so full
in after noon how lamps go
out the candleflare & all orange is
light with bars & nets
those babies there are there &
she is there too she is
made out gracefully to start life
(tirzah) aunty yu na
granny anoda life be live
through you (tirzah) pas you tiny
face you who take his cup
yu tiny hands all around
& she is maybe noto so
broken now you tiny fish
III.
do we go or stay & why take body this body
that oda ples aks question trails so foreign so
eyes white worns inconsiderate hey wit wi
mot wit wi taym
IV. Fire
Oil fire reaches porch
roof. Granat soup, fry
fish in that hot oil,
watch Aunty scream,
grab the lid to keep
flames from spreading in
through window bars.
Sweat
from fear, maybe, from
worn velvet couches, from
curtains, from clothing,
from our flammable
hair.
V. Fire
One man is beating
the other man.
With both of his arms.
Stamping them down down
onto the man’s neck.
It is far & we
can’t see clearly.
We are afraid, want
to run, anywhere.
& it is urgent.
People in the
other direction,
shouting. Yell. Look
back over their arms.
Drop their mangoes &
plantains in the street.
Then we see the smoke.
A trunk full of gas.
Gas canisters lined
up together like
boys ready for
war. & the burning
engine. Men
wild to put it out.
F.A
no de touch di faya.
F.A
yu wan rice?
VI. Prosperity Doctrine
Stadium music
keeps the compound’s eyes
open past two. (Revival
of the money blessings.)
If una lek God, God
go bles una. God
go mek una prospa.
Una no go sofa egen.
Na lie dem de lie,
noto so, Paraclete?
VII. Cry Paraclete Cry
O, strange company.
O, host of hosts, speak.
If, but is any,
like our body, weak
& broken.
& we
cry to the lion
mountains.
See the rich
& their houses full
of food.
Taste salt &
bitter juice. Nuts the
color of blood.
Biscuit boxes,
piss on cinderblock
walls.
Children with tennis
balls play in the lane,
palms
hit &
miss.
At night,
too dark to walk
safely.
Breadfruit tree. Bats.
Cemetery, drunk. Thieves. Man. Men.
VIII. Call Wi
How should the
paraclete
sound?
Does his breath smell of kola nuts?
Do her feet ache from walking through Ascension Town?
Neck strong? Teeth stained?
A halo
of our
sorrows around his head?
Does she lie
down in our compound
under the stars?
After living in Freetown, Sierra Leone in 2008, Kristina Erny was introduced to the idea of the Holy Spirit as paraclete, our intercessor, “the one who answers the cry.” These poems are part of a longer manuscript called Wax of What’s Left.