after Lowell our mothers wrung hell and hardtack from row and boll. fenced others' gardens with bones of lovers. embarking from Africa in chains reluctant pilgrims stolen by Jehovah's light planted here the bitter seed of blight and here eternal torches mark the shame of Moloch's mansions built in slavery's name. our hungered eyes do see/refuse the dark illuminate the blood-soaked steps of each historic gain. a yearning yearning to avenge the raping of the womb from which we spring
opyright © 1993 by Wanda Coleman. Reprinted from Hand Dance with permission of Black Sparrow Press.