#AmericanWriters
With your unknown to me Odd magic You came To me:
Let other leaders Retire To play golf & write Memoirs
When you thought me poor, my poverty was shaming. When blackness was unwelcome we found it best that I stay home.
My desire is always the same; wherever Life deposits me: I want to stick my toe & soon my whole body
How can Humanity look the deer in the face? How can I,
I have a friend who is turning gray, not just her hair, and I do not know why this is so.
His posture From so many years Holding his robe with one hand Is odd. His gait
If my sorrow were deeper I’d be, along with you, under the ocean’s floor; but today I learn that the oil that pools beneath the ocean floor
When they torture your mother plant a tree When they torture your father plant a tree When they torture your brother
Before I leave the stage I will sing the only song I was meant truly to sing. It is the song of I AM.
I Sing of Mumia brilliant and strong and of the captivity that few black men escape
You confide in me that you are lonely,
The old men used to sing And lifted a brother Carefully Out the door I used to think they
As if I’ve swallowed A watermelon And Sidestepping My digestive tract
My brothers knew The things you know. I did not scorn learning them; It’s just my mind