This Ocean

By Golda Solomon

This is my Atlantic too,
you Cape Coast of Ghana
You spat me out, birthed me.
Not that woman who never let go of
her mother's hand. Oh yes, she counted
fingers and toes making sure
I was her perfect reflection
You, ocean of my beginnings
in Rockaway
Weaned on condensed foam,
warmed by a July sun.
No mother's sweet nipple. She mourns
far away from this slave trade mecca.
Death adorns her like Ghana gold
Walls weep with sand pocked faces
Captured in hardened cement
Friezes of humanity.
"The Last Poets"
"Ugly Beauty".
Slaps of ocean gentle