2005 Honorable Mention

ANDREA HARRIS

LYNCHING: 1998

Comes down to the gun asking
what land are you?
When you wade in the water
do you match the mud?

Mama put too much salt in the stew,
Cuttin’ it with sugar and memories
of sweet Bossa de Brazil and Coltrane—
black dogs pushing through crowds and Hendrix,
sirens on back streets and Strange Fruit,
Ma Rainey and Aunt Jemima on cereal boxes,
signs in broken windows forbidding Muddy Waters—
the melanin in my skin-- all of Nana's stories.
We breathe accounts from Bartolome's diaries
and Arawak's war paints,
suffering on Mima's coffee table, the smell of sweet potatoes
and Big David's pipe. "Eres como las estrellas
rompen con sus madres." She says
I am like the stars they break with their mothers.

Comes down to the gun asking...
Al Green went into Sunday dinners—
generations, languages, lands sitting around a table,
wabbling, laughing, sharing joy—
into my own valley of ashes
where I purify my thoughts in Nyorican poetry.
Mama tells of Old church hymns
mixing with stories of slave songs before God—
times of doll-heads in toilets and shooting cans on the steps,
fires in brick homes and unsung heroes and patriarchs.
Freedom songs need another time, contouring babes
and Precious Lord in my nightmares. The assasination of heroes
and Monroe combine with images of Anderson, X, and Ali,
melting into victory, Gwendolyn Brooks, and Bob Marley,
crossing all race lines never before denounced,
speaking truth and of miracles and dreams
beyond murder. "Eres morena como cafe
con lemon y leche." She says
I am brown skinned like coffee
with lemon and milk.

Comes down to the gun ...

On that dust we all floated,
reliving stories told by Billie and memories of Mima.
We remember Mama who sweetened our complexions
with her words before the coming of the ropes.
We find ourselves slipping, grasping
for the stretching ropes above our heads,
the leaves seemingly untouched by our weight on their arms.
The trumpets play behind the shouts of hatred,
beckoning our spirits to the treetops,
serene contrasts to our rotting eyes.
It comes down to the water and mud,
comes to the gun,
the gun telling you,
the gun asking you,
what color you are.

When you wade in the water,
do you match the mud?