DAY 22...A Lament

A LAMENT

I don't have a name
Who saw me?
Then knew me?
Watched in my steps
away
the hope to be
In my stooped back
and gnarled hands
purpose for being
not living though
here come
here stay
merely going along
the worn and wearied way
picking the cotton
cleaning the house
the big house on the hill
with its darkened pulse

Who looked?
when i went by
and saw in slide
of liquid sun
down black marbled slabs
of muscle at work
no pay or reward
to gain
just labor
for them that
stand easy in plantation shade
as soiled roots
bore strange fruit
and mother's pride
in blood was steeped

Who wept?
when i slid down
into the dusty depths
and lay
as one asleep in the sun
after a weary day

Who sang?
A mournful dirge
to acknowledge my passage
here
on the other side
from diaspora way
where no drums called
or mother cried
or crashing waves
bore me in rocking tempo
to the swaying memory
of my grandmothers hips...

Who laid flowers?
to show that I was
brought colored lights
red and blue
yellow and white
to grow where I lie
for as slave I live
As man I die.

Nina's rendition of this song is evocative...she calls it an ugly song and it is truly ugly, but a necessary image to keep. So we do not forget that we are not too far removed either by time or space from this sordid truth.

Strange Fruit...