Brittany J. Camacho
She knelt at
the shoreline. water
lapped against dark
kneecaps. lips lowered
to dirt &
sowed words into
patient earth.
Her tongue was
coated in sand.
it writhed and
coaxed a land all
our own into
being.
obsidian women
rose from the
mound. lifted their
voices. craning toward
the rising sun, they
inhaled in unison.
breath filled plump
lungs, their dark
flesh reflected
dawn light.
She made us
of earth &
spit &
want &
song.
the shoreline. water
lapped against dark
kneecaps. lips lowered
to dirt &
sowed words into
patient earth.
Her tongue was
coated in sand.
it writhed and
coaxed a land all
our own into
being.
obsidian women
rose from the
mound. lifted their
voices. craning toward
the rising sun, they
inhaled in unison.
breath filled plump
lungs, their dark
flesh reflected
dawn light.
She made us
of earth &
spit &
want &
song.
a gail passed
over Christiansted.◊
night was velvet
and unrelenting. a
shroud to veil
her dying.
fertile fruit pummeled
into coarse moonlit
sand. the storm
rocked the lampposts,
lights blinked out &
disappeared on the
midnight Black sea.
archways & awnings
bent in the
onslaught of
hastened time.
in tumult, the sea
ebbed and flowed.
steadied trembling earth.
duty to the living
kept her grief
from swallowing
her whole.
over Christiansted.◊
night was velvet
and unrelenting. a
shroud to veil
her dying.
fertile fruit pummeled
into coarse moonlit
sand. the storm
rocked the lampposts,
lights blinked out &
disappeared on the
midnight Black sea.
archways & awnings
bent in the
onslaught of
hastened time.
in tumult, the sea
ebbed and flowed.
steadied trembling earth.
duty to the living
kept her grief
from swallowing
her whole.
Audre passed in
multitudes of self.
water called her
forth into a
new name.
She emerged from
the lapping ocean
adorned with cowrie,
twine, feathers, beads,
wire, birds of paradise,
tongues of mothers.
Her daughters washed
her aching soles
before She stepped
ashore. The journey
through the Eye
made holes in her.
They knew this
day would come.
Brown was not
obsidian, mortal
beings not hardened
stone. She birthed
this land to rest.
She laid her
weary body along
the muddy sand,
bounding two worlds.
They formed her
body to primordial ash
in salt water mortars.
sea glass pestles
parted skin without
pain.
Remembrance dusted
into waiting warmth,
danced between seafoam.
obsidian women cried.
Their fallen tears
were butterfly wings
on trade winds.
GAMBA ADISA ◊
The ocean receded.
multitudes of self.
water called her
forth into a
new name.
She emerged from
the lapping ocean
adorned with cowrie,
twine, feathers, beads,
wire, birds of paradise,
tongues of mothers.
Her daughters washed
her aching soles
before She stepped
ashore. The journey
through the Eye
made holes in her.
They knew this
day would come.
Brown was not
obsidian, mortal
beings not hardened
stone. She birthed
this land to rest.
She laid her
weary body along
the muddy sand,
bounding two worlds.
They formed her
body to primordial ash
in salt water mortars.
sea glass pestles
parted skin without
pain.
Remembrance dusted
into waiting warmth,
danced between seafoam.
obsidian women cried.
Their fallen tears
were butterfly wings
on trade winds.
GAMBA ADISA ◊
The ocean receded.
ENDNOTES
◊ — 17°44' 47.9004'' N, 64°42' 11.5236'' W. | A simultaneous place of death and birth. Former capital of the Danish West Indies, death site of Audre Lorde, and my place of birth.
◊ — Near the end of her life, Audre took the name Gamba Adisa: she who makes her meaning clear.
◊ — 17°44' 47.9004'' N, 64°42' 11.5236'' W. | A simultaneous place of death and birth. Former capital of the Danish West Indies, death site of Audre Lorde, and my place of birth.
◊ — Near the end of her life, Audre took the name Gamba Adisa: she who makes her meaning clear.
Audre Lorde in St. Croix is a poetic study investigating death as a creative force through an examination of Black, lesbian, mother, warrior, and poet Audre Lorde. Working with a blended practice of poetry, oration, storytelling, and history, I seek to engage in a dialogue with Audre’s final decade on this earth (1982 -– 1992), which she spent living in my homeland of St. Croix, and during which three of her most enduring works (Zami, The Cancer Journals, Sister Outsider) were published.
These poems imagine what Audre’s final days might have been like as she existed between two names. They serve as road maps, research questions, possibilities, daydreams, eulogies, and visits home. They imagine the hidden space between the known and what may exist in the archive of a luminous life, and where that life may still visit and make itself clear to us.
Born on St. Croix, U.S. Virgin Islands, Brittany Jurene Camacho is a proud descendant and scholar of the African Diaspora. She is a library and cultural worker, dancer, and writer. Her work lies at the intersection of the preservation of memory and creation of shared, liberated futures.
To this end, her writing spans Caribbean and Africana philosophy, circum-Caribbean history, literature, and environments, Blackness, representations and meanings of the body, performance, and world-building through Black queer resistance. Her professional career has included work at the Juilliard School, the New York Public Library for Performing Arts, and the Astraea Lesbian Foundation for Justice. Britt is guided and inspired by the ecstatic possibility of bringing worlds we have only dreamed of into being.
To this end, her writing spans Caribbean and Africana philosophy, circum-Caribbean history, literature, and environments, Blackness, representations and meanings of the body, performance, and world-building through Black queer resistance. Her professional career has included work at the Juilliard School, the New York Public Library for Performing Arts, and the Astraea Lesbian Foundation for Justice. Britt is guided and inspired by the ecstatic possibility of bringing worlds we have only dreamed of into being.