Baptized at ten
given too soon a clean heart a
shiny new spiritso much left of me to make filthy.
When I turned teenager
my mother tells me to wash it well not
to walk around in the worldhumming.
Tells me drink it girl,
it tastes the same when it’s cold.
I’ve learned to clean things
more than once. Learned to cut the
grease with lemon and soap.
Wrung around my hands are many cloths a
single rag for a dozen tasks
forbade to throw it away until it was holeyeverything used past capacity.
A pastor promised me
the protection of a God cloaked my
greased and braided headwith water from a private basin.
Grown now, and swishing in my hips
I compound all that is sweet into an anchor
discovering in the deep sea, there’s another seasaltier than the first.
I convulse in the brine of my tradition loitering
among the shovel and skillet
devoted as an acolyteoffering the allegiance of my only two hands.
Laura Neal is an African-American poet from South Carolina greatly influenced by social and environmental narratives. Her work is published in the Academy of American Poets, Birmingham Poetry Review, and Boston Art Review among others. She earned an MFA from the University of Maryland College Park and currently teaches creative writing at the University of Texas at Dallas.
Latest posts by Laura Neal (see all)
- Everything in Salt Water - January 12, 2022
