I, Cristoforo Colombo, dying but not dead
Waiting to set sail on my fifth voyage finally
Know that I shall be remembered and dismembered
By those whose uncharted lives I leave behind–
When my face will be splashed across
A conspiracy of postage stamps
With someone throwing this mariner a bone:
A holiday celebrating my day in the Caribbean sun.
I can still see San Salvador on sleepless nights:
A speck from the unrepentant Atlantic,
The waves rising skywards like my prayers–
I brought the New World to the Old:-
Gold, spices, and slaves-
And I murdered in God’s name.
I, Cristoforo Colombo, blessed by Isabella,
Mouth this monologue as my last testament
To the ungrateful living dead.