From the Kiln, A Sequined Shadow Emerges

won't you celebrate with me

what i have shaped into

a kind of life? i had no model.

born in babylon

both nonwhite and woman

what did i see to be except myself?

i made it up

here on this bridge between

starshine and clay,

my one hand holding tight

my other hand; come celebrate

with me that everyday

something has tried to kill me

and has failed.

 — “won't you celebrate with me", Lucille Clifton

Now, under this calloused sky

I am the envy of those whose unborn confessions

colour their mouths black with horrors.

I smear the ashes of the lost world onto my skin

swallowing it's embers to quicken my mortal body

spark my molten tongue to string up letters once again,

lest I forget that Promethean art.