Marion de Vos. The Door of No Return
The Door of No Return
A mouldy smell
of seaweeds and moisture
hangs in the air,
on the Island of Goree.
The sea laps soothingly
at the mussel covered stones.
Shells open and close
at each new wash
beneath the door of no return.
Palm trees stand like sentries
at the caves of Bagamoyo
among balmy scents
from lushest greens.
Inside, chains, rusty relics,
hang idly, as do bats
whose droppings paint
black streaks on the walls
of darkness.
At the former slave market of Stonetown,,
the perfume of spices appeases
the price of men and women,
according to age and sex
displayed on auction boards,
restored to perfection,
for the sake of history
Seagulls perch above
the white-stained pillory.