Where did they go the writers?
chest pulsing under kente clothThe
Word clenched in sweaty fist
Strength so awesome none approached
without a questioning, a quickering
“Am I incorrect?” “Oh tell me, brother!
Skylark, have you anything to say to me,
Won’t you tell me where my love can be?
Is there a meadow in the midst
Where someone’s waiting to be kissed?
Skylark, have you seen the valley green with spring
Where my heart can go a-journeying
Over the shadows and the rain to a blossom-covered lane?
And in your lonely flight haven’t you heard the music of the night?
Wonderful music, faint as a will-‘o-the-wisp, crazy as a loon,
Sad as a gypsy serenading the moon, oh……
Skylark, I don’t know if you can find these things,
But my heart is riding on your wings
So if you see them anywhere
I am a black woman
music of my song
Some sweet arpeggio of tears
is written in minor key
And I
can be heard humming in the night
Can be heard
Humming
In the night
I saw my mate leap screaming to the sea
And i/with these hands/cupped the life-breath
From my issue I the canebrake
I lost Nat’s swinging body in the rain of tears
and heard my son scream all the way from Anzio
for Peace he never knew….I
learned Da Nang and Pork Chop Hill
in anguish
Now my nostrils know the gas
and these trigger tired/fingers
seek the softness in my warrior’s beard…
I am a black woman
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