to the white man,
to the Negro,
to the Hispanic man,
to the American.
I work in the factories
I serve you food
I pick up trash
I am not the upper class Clinton woman.
King spoke for me, once.
Bama speaks now
Along with Dove & Giovanni
But I am still struck by a whip…
Last night he pulled my braids
Yanked out my hair
Almost turned my scalp white
But then I remembered the Mississippian sea,
floated away in a cabin of dreams
Sold my blackskin back to respect
Journeyed overtime back to Africa
A coast I shall never see but from a window.
“Would you like fries with that?”
“Of course, what’s your name?”
I forget, I am oil, black ink skin
A log rotted and tired.
I long for freedom
had it once before marriage
lost hope to him, my Negro husband
wish I could slit his throat,
not curl up to be a raisin in the sun.
Search my memory for a time of peace
EnSlave myself to an American dream
of cash earning endless-economic fears.
Where do I go from here?
Find the north star, journey to Ohio
Or lay low in the night, black like me
No moonlight or sunlight, I’m not alone.
An American Woman
Stained in jobs with grease and ketchup
Raising kids into grapes
Full of juice, anger
LET ME BE!
My hair will fall out
My skin shall stay black
Hung black, dark like blood on a rope I am.
Screaming for us, for woman
For Jena, for New Orleans
One last time,
Before I turn to black ashes
Drift away black like a rotten log, down river
Towards my African grave,
Silent in the water, I am the wind of change
Civil rights do not break chains overnight.