when the ground moves
Yet if they [women] are supposed to be the tabula rasa, the ground
onto which men inscribe ethnicity or national identity in their struggle
for power, what happens when the ground moves and speaks [for her self]?
I am an endangered species
but I sing no victim songs
I am a woman/I am an artist
and I know where my voice belongs*
when the ground
moves and speaks
shakes herself loose of fetters
shackles
and
dictates
the heavily tarnished jewelry
of a world
she never made a
world she can
no longer
recognize
when the ground rears herself up
whispers beyond the din of incoherence
flees the
crippling toxin some
mistakenly
label
love
will any of you understand the
ground that yields nations
has run not to hide but
seek
the inner sanctum of
her true and
sacred name
28
african Voices
— Florencia E. Mallon,
University of Wisconsin/Madison