August 31, 2020
461: For Black Children at the End of the World—and the Beginning
August 31, 2020
461: For Black Children at the End of the World—and the Beginning
For Black Children at the End of the World—and the Beginning
by Roger Reeves
You are in the black car burning beneath the highway And rising above it—not as smoke But what causes it to rise. Hey, Black Child, You are the fire at the end of your elders’ Weeping, fire against the blur of horse, hoof, Stick, stone, several plagues including time. Chrysalis hanging on the bough of this night And the burning world: Burn, Baby, burn. Anvil and iron be thy name, yea though ye may Walk among the harnessed heat and huntsmen Who bear their masters’ hunger for paradise In your rabbit-death, in the beheading of your ghost. You are the healing snake in the heather Bursting forth from your humps of sleep. In the morning, your tongue moves along the earth Naming hawk sky; rabbit run; your tongue, Poison to the filthy democracy, to the gold- Domed capitols where the ‘Guard in their grub- Worm-colored uniforms cling to the blades of grass— Worm on the leaf, worm in the dust, worm, Worm made of rust: sing it with me, Dragon of Insurmountable Beauty. Black Child, laugh at the men with their hoofs and borrowed muscle, their long and short guns, The worm of their faces, their casket ass- Embling of the afternoon, leftover leaves From last year’s autumn scraping across their boots; Laugh, laugh at their assassins on the roofs (For the time of the assassin is also the time of hysterical laughter). Black Child, you are the walking-on-of-water Without the need of an approving master. You are in a beautiful language. You are what lies beyond this kingdom And the next and the next and fire. Fire, Black Child.
"For Black Children at the End of the World—and the Beginning" by Roger Reeves. Used by permission of the poet.