Between Here and Heaven

By CRYSTAL MCMILLIAN

I set sail on ships to Motherlands

Crossing stormy waters

Haunted by unsettled spirits

Spinning somewhere between here and heaven

Or here and hell

They are eternally suspended in the second that their souls ceased to soar

Now I’m back on sandy shores

Sea foam between my toes and sun beaming down on my head,

Still held high, though confused, wondering what journeys lie ahead

And the sweet smells of something sizzling on the fire

Season-changing celebrations,

Songs sang to reach the skies

Joyous cries!

Calls and responded sang

Sounding somewhat familiar?

And Ndichie, or elders, meeting in hushed tones

Young boys ushered into manhood by facing wilderness alone

The laughter of children and children’s children warms the heart

…Until things fall apart

Now smooth-talking missionaries with forked tongues and foreign faces

Convince me to forsake all I’ve known

Those who aren’t as strong put up no fight and calmly go

Now I am back on sandy shores, shackled and bound

And the sun, once so soothing, now bears down

I carry my weight and that of those I leave behind

And of those who under the force loose their sanity or their lives

All tongues of Mother’s children calling out to the divine

But things fall apart

Now scores of generations have come and go, lived and died, sacrificed and struggled

Juggled the weight of the weak and the strong

Yet something of sandy shores and surreal sunsets lives on

Here I am on corners across the country

In schools, and churches and homes of Mother’s children

In Ebony dialects.

English

Mixed with French

Mixed with Arabic

Mixed with years of sweat and tears

Mixed in between the lines and syncopated cymbals

In the songs we create to

Fill the pregnant silences in the air

Here I Am!

In the cycles of success and sorrow.

Cycles of success and sorrow

Success and sorrow

Specifically in the survival

Here I am!

In the eyes of students from home

Here to experience our brand of bondage as we long to experience theirs

Thinking it different from our own

Romanticizing agony, thinking Africa must be heaven

And heaven must be home

So...

We set sail on ships to other lands

Crossing stormy waters

Haunted by unsettled spirits

Spinning somewhere between here and heaven

Or here and hell

We are eternally suspended in the seconds that our souls ceased to soar