POEM: Lemuria I

The family ghosts are quiet; they behave themselves.
It is the ghosts of old regimes that creak so loudly on the stair.
The father of all fathers, patriarchy, walks these halls.
“I am man, I am father, I am king,” he mumbles ceaselessly
under his breath. “I am white, I am rich, I am powerful.
Whatever is not me is less than me, less than human,
fit only to serve my will, my whim. Give me more wives,
more gold, more power! Give me more servants to carry my weight!”
Like Hamlet’s father’s ghost, he wants to be avenged, that is,
perpetuated. Instead I spit beans at him. Let the ghosts
of old kings, old fathers, begone! Let the white man ghost
be laid to rest, never trouble his women, his children,
his servants. Let the rest of the world breathe free, stand up,
unhaunted, undaunted, walking freely in the light of day.