“Why didn’t you fix no bread?” She asked.
“I ain’t know what kind you wanted” the old man said so cool-
He would then reach into his pocket after school.
“Run across the street,
and get you something sweet”
His timeless hands cupped with surety,
Rough and weathered with wisdom and security-
“Brang me back an Aura C” he instructed.
He was rugged like the cross I suppose-
One nail broken,
Tells of stories unspoken.
I dare not joke about the ash of those hands.
This is the ash of a nigger, negro, and colored man.
Sometimes he would talk about
the good times of the worst years prior-
He sankofa those years,
With unforgotten tears-
He’s seen so many brothers born into death,
And die into birth.
The tin seal crack,
The old man sat back-
“You yet holding on?” He inquires.
He stares until he gets an anticipated reply.
“Yes, sir! I’m yet holding on to Jesus”
He saw that I knew the Lord,
and that I would understand it better by and by.
Feels so strange,
Now that the old man is out of range.
“Don’t rush off!”
I wish I could tell him as he told me,
This great man who loved God faithfully,
A “Giant Servant” and a “Good Man”,
I’ll always remember the old man,
As long as I can!