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A Black Man Talks of Reaping
I have sown beside all waters in
my day
I planted deep, within my heart
the fear
That wind or fowl would take the
grain away.
I planted safe against this stark,
lean year.
I scattered seed enough to plant
the land
In rows from Canada to Mexico
But for my reaping only what the
hand
Can hold at once is all that I can
show.
Yet what I sowed and what the
orchard yields
My brother' sons are gathering
stalk and root,
Small wonder then my children
glean in fields
They have not sown, and feed on bitter fruits * * * * *
IdolatryYou
have been good to me, I give you this:
The arms of lovers empty
as our own,
marble lips sustaining
one long kiss
And the hard sound of
hammers breaking stone.
For I will build a
chapel in the place
Where our love died and
I will journey there
To make a sign and kneel
before your face
And set an old bell tolling on the air.
* * * * *
Reconnaissance
After the cloud embankments,
The lamentation of
wind
And the starry
descent into time,
We came to the
flashing waters and shaded our eyes
From the glare.
Alone with the shore
and the harbor,
The stems of the
cocoanut trees,
The fronds of
silence and hushed music,
We cried for the new
revelation
And waited for
miracles to rise.
Where elements touch
and emerge,
Where shadows swoon
like outcasts on the sand
And the tired moment
waits, its courage gone—
There
were we
In
latitudes where storms are born. |