Anansi’s Dish Resents Not Being Remembered

by B. Sharise Moore

I was made from

centuries old stories

wisdom baked in a kiln

knowledge set afire

then cooled for practical use

and painted burgundy

passed down as

simple ceramic rather 

than mythical souvenir

I am bitter

my envy caked like rust

around the rim of a skillet

I should be 

propped up 

on a pedestal

vaulted before a sacred sunset

the sky’s final curtain before dusk

but 

at least she is careful

prudent with her steps 

while I balance on her head 

her sandaled feet

nearly silent down the path

splash. 

the water slips

but I still grip 

hold firm

like the vessel I am.

if I still myself and listen 

the water speaks 

in drips and drops

reminds me of my magnificence 

how I once gleamed

glittered in the hands of a god

the water always remembers

Shhhh it whispers

in wet words 

we are heavy on her head

Shhhh, it says. 

you are essential

and her family is thirsty