On cold dark nights
we perform our ritual of rubbing.
Doing with our skin what
Neanderthals did with stones;
enveloping ourselves in an ungodly heat—
the type that consumes the kitchen
when frying plantain on a hot summer's day.
With our fingers,
we trace the origins of energy.
If there ever was a time we became doubtful and hopeless,
tonight is the moment our souls (re)assume their roles as
faithful carriers of Sango’s fire.
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