She Would Be King

by Wayétu Moore

“Hell, when I die, bury me the way I came. Want to be ready to show God my scars and ask why.”

Was I the only one who could not tell the difference between a life in bondage and death?

Emerson. That place where we lost our language, lost ourselves. They told us we had no history but darkness, so they kept the books away for fear we might understand the truth better, and thus find

Alike spirits separated at great distances will always be bound to meet, even if only once; kindred souls will always collide; and strings of coincidences are never what they appear to be on the surface, but instead are the mask of God.

“The girl with the biggest gift of us all. Life. If she was not a girl or if she was not a woman; if she was not a woman or if she was not a witch, she would be king,” I

Love swallowed her fear and Gbessa continued toward the ships. Let them come. For what had death ever succeeded at but mocking her? She was enough.

The wind blew in a calamitous frenzy around them, thick with anticipation. I carried with me the sound of their heartbeat, men and women once separated across continents. They named her Liberia. I called for the dust and sand below to join me in the air. I awakened the hurricanes and danced. Dared the captors to challenge me. Dared them to confront what they could not see, deemed invisible.

“Fengbe, keh kamba beh. Fengbe, kemu beh.” We have nothing but we have God. We have nothing but we have each other.