Seven Stabs of the Dagger

Seven Stabs of the Dagger

Field dark, hands hard
from cutting cane,

at Bwa Kayiman, she fought
beside the men,

baby on her back,
dagger-eyed.

Seven Stabs of the Knife

Warrior of Ayiti betrayed
by Mapyan—She-who-lies—

her own held her down,
took a cane knife, hooked

out her tongue—
that blood root now

forever mute.  Not enough
for that betraying bitch

who thrice more slicked
that blade.  Face splayed,

tongue taken, still she stands,
Danto, raging.

Her blood is flowing

Called at Bwa Kayiman
we call her now:

Ezile Danto.
Reine Kongo
Ezili ze rouge.
Mother of the revolution.

Bring her sacrifice,
sharpen her knives.

Bring her a basin for the blood.

She comes.  Slits the throat
Of the fat black sow.

Seven stabs of the dagger.

With blood she smears
their faces, with silence

she refutes their lies.
Feeds them blood

vomited into a bowl.
Retribution.  Red eyed.

Seven stabs of the knife.

Note:  Italicized lines are from a traditional Haitian Vodou song to Erzulie Dantor.

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