She Cemetary

I’ve been a river for tired men 
  flowing, dancing, reflecting, filling the empty in their calabash bellies.  

     I’ve been an ocean for wounded men
       washing, pouring, nursing, rocking – back and forth – their tears.

         I’ve been a graveyard too:  
            a cemetery for their tormented souls, zombies  
             heart-dead. Screaming the name of the last woman to take his breath.
                  My body is a song, calling them to crawl back into the hollow of me.
                         Cool earth. To nestle and rest. Hold their weight. Eat all
                              their rotten. Make home of their rejected parts.
                                  Daring any gravedigger to try her luck.