Acorns and wild berries were lunch in one room schools That my bloodline left for burning houses Incensed by the rivers of the righteous. A mulatto hung, bled and died with his saddle Covering his unmarked cemetery. A square shaped salute to Dixie. Pearls are maimed under pressure; Mares are fed with blood from Barnett’s red reservoir. Haints float out of the mouth of old folk Hovering like dragonflies over Highway 25. Afterimages flash like steam from the mildew Of Mississippi engines running hot. I cast my ballot in soil arable for tilling nightmares Planting dreams in crop rotation Transmuting the dominance of crimson vines With family reunions and my uncle’s barbeque. We eulogized him with helium on our tongues Our obituaries stuffed in purses And pinned over penny filled moonshine jars. I found his tears off Ellis pouring off his cousin’s face And into his nephew’s hands. We ate Kush from the Senegambia Stuffed into Tupperware and twisted sandwich bags. We spread our herbs across the district And named our homeland celebrations for dressing. We dreamed Edwards, burrowing ourselves in the mud, To hide our Afrikan village from southern heritage and blue pride. We commune in Harmony and Pilgrim’s Rest Out by where O.E. Jordan was put to rest. What a consistent sacrifice of fortune, Trading love and hope and resistance For unmarked cemeteries. But we keep some of our Galilees. We build some of our Mound Bayous And preserve our Smith Robertsons. We survive the Revelations and the burnings Though we, sometimes, forget.
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