Tamara J. Madison

The Christening

Pleated air and etched lace of snowflakes, her regalia,
burnished brass, her skin.
Rising from throne of relentless unrest,
she curtsies
and plucks a bass with her toes.

Recalcitrant dance of deified Promise,
She:
ribbonic melody,
bubonic baritone
of quadruple double “D’s;
make Mojo hands snap his fingers,
tremble, itch his sweating palms.

This soulful siren,
the Muse’s Muse,
her tongue
betrothed to bereavement
and breakthrough.
her breath broke
turns brush stroke
on a canvas ravenous of dreams.

She
swallows city slick,
spits hymns salacious
giving birth to the birth
of “Cool.”

This shaman of split riff
carried Jive on her left hip
and bestowed upon his gimp her swagger
and priestess dagger to cut
the skin of night to breech dawn.

She
fashions cultures
with the twist of her wrist,
jiggle of her thigh;
bat of her eye.
Her off beat, on point,
her off key pops the lock
holding Nat Turner’s vision.

Bossa Nova searing her veins,
She:
endless scat of untamed sass;
quintessential class shattering the confines of malicious myth;
conductress of sanctified symphony -
reed ripping,
sax groaning,
drum grunting,
eucharistic funktastrophy
consecrated on an altar of resurrected dreams.

This goddess of riff split
wets dry bones
bids skulls to bloom eyes,
and awaken hungry
questing flesh again;
from between her knees
apocalypses tumble
suckled on messianic milk of Jezebel breast. She

lust of conquering kings,
envy of alabaster queens,
mystical lover to make the sun shudder
and behold her as She shines!

And we,
her mighty descendants,
the boptized and funktified,
we ARISE
and call her BLESSED!