☀ What Sparks Poetry: Susan Tichy on Telling the Story That Cannot Be Told Yet Must Be Told

nd their f
all our f
all i t was a b
ull marke                                                                                         t for g
uineas & gui   nea negro
es a b    ear mark
  et in h
ope nig ht fad    es to da
y da   y to n
ight her d ugs ha    ng sa
cks of d   ry fe    ar ho   pe fad
                es to fe ar th ey eat t
heir fea    r and all    roun
d is f    ear i mo
urn you mo    urn we mou                        rn our mo
   rt they hur    t we w
ill have a big d                           ish of s puds with b          eef el s
                          on the s                 ong we e             at we d
                                        oze she but a b it a s                          lip of a g
irl we c    ome to p     raise the r
   use in d    upe they pr aise o
rí i lé i                                                fé in a    n age so
   rare that p    hrase again the                            oba so
   bs with pra       ise and p    us the sh
ip sail s o    n board s aint sow & ca
ptain p    ig s                             aint s
in & lor d tin the v    essel y
aw s first e                         ast then we st i p
   ray to the e ast the n to the w
est to the n                    orth & so uth no e       vide
nce of g    od but o    ur negro
   es have ya     w s the y
aw s le                        ak p    us
there is n    o new t
  hing here on e    arth de fun
fun m                               an come t
ek we a way we li                            ve by old cr
eed s ma    de new the more to su
                                        it our de                        ed s have the r
am tup the e   we i tup & t op the q
ueen of s pade s in our ede                   n the pi
                                                g grouts r                                 outs in the d
            ung we sa    il we
                                st for e   ast & e
den the capta   in a man o
   f girth of har sh mien and vo     ice eve
  n with the s    he ne
groes i s   aw him r ub his s
                ex aga    inst her i se ek no g
                                old no r tin no sap
tin sap phire no    r rub
                  y nor the o    re of the i   ndies m
y eden is y                            ou r
uth only y ou me i b e od
                      e mo i je suis ode we ca
                                    me d    own the r
    iver the re was a f                             ort in the mi
               st wh ere we wo
uld prove our mu st our mig
ht & rig ht there wa s dew o
                    n the ir ski
n on he              r sk
    in he wa     s a sly o
   ne with our guine    as we turn t
o the or acle it tun
es our fort    unes wh
ere must cre ates will th    ere ò
  gún live s a twi t and a I
out to boo t he pas
                                             sed out o    n deck a
  pes all th ey shed t
ears fresh t    ears will not e
at sal t will never s
                                                  ee a    frica aga
in they s    ay a s    cene neve
r seen b    efore & w
                                          e are late in t    ime for the e
                        ast ede                         n & eve
  r wal    e and s                         ade have no hut i ca
   n not b    ear this t    ale told b
   are of all t    ruth ru                            th you a
       re my m ust m y can t
his story i    s not mi
                        ine to t                                   ell tell i    t i m
ust it was on ly trade after a
ll act s ix sce    ne o
           ne we mat                                        e them a b
                                ill of s    ale for a b
      ale of h ay a gu    inea m
  an a ne gro