Music; drums beating -slow, fast, slow, fast
Bodies gyrating as if possessed by the spirit of whom they celebrate, their pants adding a new texture to the rhythm, they shine, their sweat gleaming on their skin as the light of the fire illuminates them.
From the earth through the fire she’s being formed – waxing and waning she’s moulded in the fire.
Kneeling around her are her ancestors, they clasp their hands, heads bowed, voices raised in unison with the drums, spirits high in anticipation -she’s almost here now.
The earth rumbles, the ante up, the haze of the excitement blinding.
She’s here now, her form is in the fire.
The torch is passed, Cleopatra to Rosa Parks, she passes to Amina of Zaria and with a smile on her face she gives it to Maya Angelou. Maya smiles, ecstatic as she passes it on to the most recent Maeyo Joie, and from a modern queen to another she hands the torch to me. From the embers of the fire another QUEEN is born.
My mark etched to my child bearing hips.
Hands lifted in appreciation.
Eyes lifted as I pray, and await his approval, and then he breathes.
His breath awakening my senses.
It is my era now. My reign, my rules.
From the fire, earth sealed with a breath -a QUEEN.