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Six Poems in BLM-Tide

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by
Kathy Bozzuti-Jones and The Rev. Dr. Mark Bozzuti-Jones


Published in the issue.

Monument

Black and
Beautiful
Uprising from the
Beginning, proclaiming this ever-
Ancient ever-new reality
While we were at supper
And during the blessing
This is my body
This is my blood
Remember the black
Ethiopian dust that flew
To the shores of Ghana
Like hands outstretched from
Sea to shining sea fighting
against the System
that tries to justify
trying to sell
our soul --
We survive and rise
We will not celebrate
Hate, oppression
and lies
Our beautiful and black
Ancestors told the
Ashanti truth:
We never start
a war
But we will fight until
The end.
We know we shall
Win. We are confident
in the victory
of good over stupid,
And ugly,
And evil.
Matter.

This Feeling

Deep
Deep down
in an ancient, delicate and familiar
place of me
There echoes a song that never stops flowing
O Black Child don’t you weep
Don’t you moan
Satan Pharaoh Herod Babylon have
fallen
And their bridges burning down
These are days when nothing
consoles me
When I arrive in
my sanctuary
wanting the whole universe to burn

Then, when
I listen,
I hear
Deep, deep, deep river
Whispering to the sands and rocks
I know I must keep on
flowing
Deep down
From time before time
Created
Embraced
Celebrated
Conjugated
Loved.
To love.

Endure

My mother always says
She even said it yesterday
What you can’t cure
you must endure.
John Brown’s body lies
A stinking in the grave
But his truth is marching on
That is who the soul rebel is who controls the
Past and controls the future and endures
The present
Trodding down daily white supremacy and
Black subordination
Resisting the system
Psychic violence
Psychological exile
Come celebrate this marking, claiming
This proclaiming
This cure of the sickness in the
Story
(Yes, Mommy)
Enduring.

Faith Sees

Out of the depths and the
night
Within me
captured
raped
beaten
shackled and sold
None have ever even been able to chain
My black and shining
Soul
I comprehend because I have
lived it
I have seen
the sorrowful mysteries of my
People – I know them
Black and comely I have seen God
And the look of God
that look that God gave me
and God fashioned me
To see the dark
To see in the dark – not impossible
Quite possible
to see
with the dark
Standing in and with and
Through the
dark.
Faith.

Those Knees

You have your knees on our lives.
Knees on our heads
Knees on our necks
Knees on our chests
Knees on our bellies
Knees on our groins
Knees on our private parts
Knees on our backsides
Knees on our thighs
Knees on our legs and feet
Knees on our hands.

Our black bodies can’t breathe.
We will not take it any more
We want to live
We want to breathe
Our minds and our souls like
Phoenix rising
Sankofa and be free
Rising and flying
Away this bright
morning
Rising
Flying
Breaking
Those knees
Like chains
For wings.

Those Knees

You say you will not deny,
betray
Or sell us out
And you have read books by black
Authors and you have come
out
You have not learned much
and of such
We will spit you
out
of our mouths
Joining the protest with that radical
Sign
Reading Martin Luther Jr. don’t
make you a friend of
mine
And that you gave him money when
He was broke
That anti-racism class you took don’t
Make you woke
Your certificate and your proof of
Honors
Don’t declare that you will give up your
Powers
Posting, reposting,
Hash-tagging, parading
At rallies, even your writings –
Did I break your white heart?
If you don’t give your life
There is no cure for
your
Ignorance
Privilege
And Racism
Just because