O AFRICA, WHERE I BAKED MY BREAD by Lance Jeffers.

O Africa, where I baked my bread
In the streets at 15 through
the San Francisco midnights…
O Africa, whose San Francisco shouting-church
on Geary Street and Webster saw a candle
burning in the middle of my madness…
O Africa, whose Fatha Hines and Teddy Wilson
I took to my piano…
O Africa within every brown breast that’s
sucked me,
Africa’s thousand calmings of my mother-hunger
across the North American continent…
O Africa, within the black folk who’ve loved me
in this prelude to the sip-blood time…
Africa, I lay my hand upon your swarthy belly-and
keep it there till death stubs his toe
against my manhood in the night!!!!