I have no name—at least not yet,But Mama knows I am “go,” “ready,” “set.”I’m stripes and wiggles, hooves and squeals,Still learning how to trust my heels. I zig, I zag, I loop, I dash,I chase the wind, then trip and...

O ink of womb-warm earth,rising from the calabash of origin,swirling through baobab root from griot tongue—you are not written,you are remembered. Praise the red soil that stains the feet of wanderers,the black rock that keeps the forgotten path,the wind that...