Tulane Review Digital

Within
By Eli Coyle
Starts the sun up from space
rising red on the horizon
Le Mais
By Jerrice J. Baptiste
See then the rusted
heart red poppy in sleep
Dried out in the aftermath of rain
sealed in and shut off
Sleeping until the sun comes up
becoming in the morning wake
The fertile citrus tree producing again
another heart
A ripe blood orange
pressing and pumping in the cage
Swelling and growing in the cage until it
breaks down metal
Softness of flying sparks
the sweet sour acidity
Dissolving away a little more
opening a little more
The passageway within
metal shavings on the floor
The peeling of the rind
revealing all that is awake
While she waits for the corn to grow eight feet
tall, she walks the fields, a maze of her own creation.
Her hands brush the corn silk, sometimes
stroking it like the hair of her grand-daughters.
Sweet baby corn is the first to be harvested,
grandmother peels the husks. A meditation unfolds
of pulling off the husks, then adding them
to the barrels to wash. One barrel is for the children,
the other for the adults, to be grilled on an
outdoor fire during the village gathering. That
night, the children arrive with their toys, wooden
sail boats, red and yellow tap-tap buses and
cloth dolls and a candle to light the darkness.
Adults and children mingle and choose their favorite
corn. Grandmother plays with babies,
shaking their feet. She smiles with them while
engaging in baby talk and telling them “You are
sweet like my corn.” Her index finger opens the
mouth of each baby, looking for budding teeth.