the smell of brass smoldering in his
sleep
he woke to the fire of the parade
grabbed his horn
& took aim at Shamarr
out the window of his room
with one hand
Pop lifted me up by the nape of my neck for walking in front of a lady
painted & open at Zulu
like the lion cub i donned
he placed me back into the pride of the beat
wrapped in neverending notes
for death & for spring
for the fattening before Lent
from the wishes of Pans & princesses bouncing free
til the brain bursts
inside tell me what you see
a lucid second line still possible to ride
it’s how you enter
walk into any shop on Magazine
the sweet what you need, shas[1] pour
to ease the sting of sugar cane
the sweet what you need, shas
for the ease of the whole city in one big boat
gliding in with all the saints
we’re in Butler’s:
a shack losing its roof in the black pearl
my cousin waving defiant in the middle of the dance floor
oblivious to every shoulder leaning his way
matching Ice Cube, MC Ren, Dr. Dre, & Easy-E line for line
in perfect flow
Fuck tha Police[2]
searching for yey
from strangers
finally a dread with gold teeth offers
if he’ll give him cash first
waiting outside for gilded snakes to return
i tell my cousin he’s never coming back
he has to he tells me
he can’t stay in that busted shanty all night
people must go back to where they’re from
it’s how the world works
& if he doesn’t have the coke
i’ll trip him when he tries to run
like his feet are cosmic magnets
we pull all American music & spirits south to the toes of the boot
like water down the drain of a bathtub
we’re the center of the spiral
we reverse & hurricane it all through the other cities & towns
the lands dry & calm before us
be grateful
without us America would have no music & no spirits
absinthe from the Old Absinthe House in the alley
the sugar cube aflame in the green
repeating ghosts beating a blue drum clean of its air
line for line
in perfect polyrhythm
each syncopation leaning back off the pulse right where it needs to lie
we’re the first American town to measure time by storms
my uncle’s throw from the float still until we chose to blink again
then the beads rushed our faces & necks
my uncle’s throw from the float still until we remembered motion
then the doubloons bouncing off our teeth
we could still be there
no eyelids, no gravity
my cousin & i
ecstasy at high tide
perched on the drum colors of the parade
sailing the winds of Carnival season
after Brees threaded a holy sphere through the cover two
into two praying palms
to Stills
to still the wailing
for one Sunday all the churches stopped shaking
after 22 intercepted our city’s lost son & took him home
then we knew we’d be marching in
but are we gonna get there with our bodies?
maybe not
but we need our legs, our feet to second line
we need our mouths, our lips to consume
to wake to freedom from Rose’s[3] chicory café au lait
to burn for blackened cocodril from the grill
cooled by alligator pears stuffed with crab meat
Pere whispering the reign of his grandfather Isaac Newton Marks
my third great
king of rex
embers threatening the throne suspended with song over the streetcar rails run parallel, never touch
leading the unification movement:
tinder merging with wind
waiting for a spark to carry
my hometown is one fire after another
street taken over & falling apart
give in to the ghost dance
ghost dance
give in to the ghost
ghost the dance
dance the ghost
ghost give in
to the ghost
dance
into the ghost dance
Denis formed from Dionysius in the veins of family trees
taken from behind by the African gods
we drink on every corner ‘til they’re goddesses
my aunt is slurring my name again at Bacchus
& i know my response will just be spilled
wine on the riverbarge
staining the poque[4] chips with my fingers’ want
i put my life on the line
before the turn
into a new king’s death
what does his funeral sound like?
Taj Mahal with ten tubas
textured by flambeaux torches & feathers
circling the face of Chief Becate Batiste[5]
mirrored everywhere especially in flight
each bird a film
my memories of the
State Palace Theater
cascading from wedding cake balconies
rolling in a sea
touching everything & being touched
a woman finally breaking free
i love black people
& in his kindness
i love white people
but to pretend to care about a decaying baby’s bones from another century[6]
when you have a body darkened by work & beats
made real by the American sun[7]
answering the call for a country & a culture
is an impossible offering
best to bury it before the goddesses try to taste the pillars
& let its cries drown in the ghost crowds
swelling through the sousaphone
thickened by the bass drum
curling to the trumpet
this could finally be the wave
that carries us away for good
if the world were made anew
it would be in the line
shooting this march to shore
Tremé
Hot Eight
Rebirth
they all promise nightly
& even though they keep their tone
riding a crescent night
where we choose the colors & the meter
still the sun enters
& asks for a rest
maybe this revolution i keep living in my head isn’t asleep
but a brain fire we can’t quiet
a heat we can’t cool
L’Ouverture sparked the sale of Louisiana
& launched steamboats carrying our name[8] to Natchez
even as we spread
with the river it rages
& washes away our faces
krewes still float expressions
every mask a triumph
in a dream we stalk loudly
[1] “Sha” is Creole for the French “cher” meaning dear.
[2] Straight Outta Compton
[3] Rose Nicaud bought her freedom by establishing the first coffee stand in New Orleans in the early 19th century when New Orleans was the largest coffee port in the country.
[4] The original name for poker, which came to America through New Orleans.
[5] Founder of the Creole Wild West tribe, which many consider the first Mardi Gras Indian tribe.
[6] “But race is the child of racism, not the father. And the process of naming ‘the people’ had never been a matter of genealogy and physiognomy so much as one of hierarchy. Difference in hair and hue is old. But the belief in the preeminence of hue and hair, the notion that these factors can correctly organize a society and that they signify deeper attributes, which are indelible—this is the new idea at the heart of these new people who have been brought up hopelessly, tragically, deceitfully, to believe they are white.”
-Ta-Nehisi Coates
[7] “It is the white man who creates the Negro. But it is the negro who creates negritude.” -Frantz Fanon
[8] New Orleans was the first steamboat to operate in Western waters.