The Seismic Gospel
And then god says let there be twerk
The cornets start to whistle a Ying Yang tune
And bodies built of the moon
fill the night with enough prayer
to pull the bones of my ancestors
from the dirt to let them start an electric slide
See god
They knew Africa would be built outta bass
A small piece of hymn we could postcard in our thighs
and carrier pigeon down to our kin
What a blessing we have
To tell so many stories with our asses
Our rhythm be the plot of every chapter god wrote
for us it didn’t take seven days for god to give us this quake
We, children of the soil,
we’re made seismic and ever breaking
ever breaking
every holy begets this dance
Amen
Jason B. Crawford (They/He) is a black, nonbinary, bi-poly-queer writer born in Washington DC, raised in Lansing, MI. His debut chapbook collection Summertime Fine is out through Variant Lit.
Website: JasonBCrawford.com
Instagram: jasonbcrawford
Twitter handle: @jasonbcrawford
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