I trying not to write my vague memory of land. The brown porous thing. Miraculous. That thing shifting shape and colour to suite the long, long tides. Expect no land here. Here is water because all the earth now is you.
The point is many of we seen it coming. And suddenly it sweep we across a greedy waterscape. Something like a wave carrying a very big fight.
I know you must be coming here, too. But don’t let these things you will feel turn you back: one human skeleton lodge in your ear; a hundred-years hurricane tossing trees and countries in your head; in your spleen, men carrying cloth sacks with the bones of thousands on their backs; large mines still full of lithium in your liver. Sit up. The ships coming are full of you.
Distance, too, is different here. Let me not say more than that.
Canisia Lubrin
Writer, editor and teacher Canisia Lubrin is the author of Voodoo Hypothesis (W&W, 2017), The Dyzgraphxst (M&S, 2020) and Code Noir, forthcoming from Knopf Canada.
