Being born Black in America
is like waring an invisible noose
never knowing when it will snap.
Being born a Black Woe-man in America
is double jeopardy
with all ties, dangling, pulling
reducing freedom to puppet-like status
A free-hearted spirit that beats in regret
stirring soul-filled memories of-
bodies once a part of you---gone.
Watchers by day, prayers in the night
shoulders ladened like beast of burden
with "nation-hood" chores--
mouth pursed, not for a kiss,
but screaming in the night
when "Eli" comes.
Connection with our "Mother", our "Land",
now so far removed.
outstretched arms lift to touch souls
once a part of her, that haunt her mind.
Eyes stare on hazed landscapes and remember
long forgotten smiles that no longer come.
Her arms stretch out wanting to touch
the many misguided souls and silently connect
with the many that were erased.
Arms folded across her brest,
hold in place the treads of her own being,
and then, she cries.
Author's Note: This work was done after
reading the plight of a young African woman
who was sentenced to death in Africa.
It brought to mind how much our "foremothers"
went through just trying to survive the harsh
treatment unjustly forced upon them just
because their skin was black, and they had
no one to protect them.