Knowing Emmett Till had been born
in '41 and my father in '42,
in '41 and my father in '42,
knowing Mississippi made a wound of his only body
while my father's slept tender in Alabama,
knowing how quick my father was to whistle,
to hum, to quip back, to be smart - while Black -
I turned my head in the classroom,
turned my head from the film-lit photograph,
from the misshapen yield of that river,
toward the gentle vacancies of the baseball field.
Oh, child. It's 1992.
Your father will be beside you at the dinner table.
There is a mother whose son was lost to Mississippi.
She's telling you, Look.
~ Amanda Gunn
1 comment:
Wow. I'd leave some words, but she already said them.
Thanks for sharing.
Post a Comment