Cast, A Ballad

I do this for the ghosts,
That swim the Middle Passage ocean floor
For the backs stiffened by scars borne
As the consequence of plantation whippings

For fingers blunted and blistered
By cotton pickin' below Mason Dixon
For the echo of fractured families,
And forgotten surnames

I do this for the missing 2/5ths
Of constitutional existence
For assassinated adolescents
Forgotten in Baptist basements

For those martyred activists
Whose names sounded like a law firm
And for voices coming from poplar trees
Whispering, "won't you ever remember me?"

For the smoked out Colfax, Louisiana courthouse
And the tear-stains in the middle
Of the Evers' family driveway

For obstinate organizers and
Long summer bus rides
For the swollen ankles of ancestors
That marched over the bridges of bigots

Past snarling dogs and rigid water hoses
Past all the obstacles orchestrated by
James Crow:
Reading tests and burning crosses,
Meant to stymy freedom's flow

I do this for 1000 cities called "Ferguson",
Where complacency and shoulder shrugs
Have been an invitation to racial subjugation

And for mothers and fathers trading their lives
to save sons and daughters,
Who, in the face of AK47s, don't blink
Who point their way to a new history
With fingers dipped in blue ink

For so many reasons found in between
Heaven and Earth below
I duck into the booth
And pull the curtain closed,

Courting claustrophobia
Alone - but standing on the shoulders
Of unknown unappreciated uncelebrated souls

I put X's in boxes with hands that are not just mine
And I swear I hear the poplar trees whisper
That I'm doing "just fine"
As I cast into the winds of the future
My wish for absolution, revolution, and Hope

Because I can...
Because they couldn't...
Because they tried to break them...
Because they just wouldn't...

 

So, at every chance...
I VOTE.