Featuring Healing Verse Germantown community poetry.
My father’s story / May I feel the tears, so you can be seen / being Black in america
Before you can know
what living really is,
you must hold your momma
dead in your arms
on the floor of your living room.
Feel the agony in a moment,
whisping away the breath of a woman
that held you for years
against her breast…
Stroke, they say.
Before you can know
what living really is,
you must get a call that your
older brother
was gunned down
in front his house, as Medgar,
walking into his once-thought
Sanctuary.
Weeks by you travel,
back to the patched grass
and touch the blood stained dirt
with your fingertips.
Breathing in all
that you have left.
Then, it is only sitting in the magic
that makes each
moment
pulse
through your veins,
sends you into an ecstatic jolt,
that raises your lashes
to the tree painted sky
so you can truly
Live.