Grandmothers
Black Mamma-faces
The speaker is the voice of many women who escaped slavery to become the beautiful, strong women of today.
She lay, face down in the moist dirt
The breaking of chains rustling
With the whispers of leaves
the loud longing of hounds and
The ransack of hunters crackling the near
Branches
She muttered, lifting her head a nod toward
Freedom
“I shall not, I shall not be moved”
She gathered her babies
Their tears slick as oil on black faces
Their young eyes canvassing mornings of madness
“Momma, is Master going to sell you
From us tomorrow?”
“Yes
Unless you keep walking more
And talking less.”
“Yes
Unless the keeper of our lives
Releases me from all commandments.”
“Yes
And your lives
Never mine to live
Will be executed upon the killing floor of
Innocents,
Unless you match my heart and words
Saying with me,”
“I shall not be moved”
In Virginia tobacco fields
Leaning into the curve
Of Steinway
Pianos, along Arkansas roads
In the red hills of Georgia
Into the palms of her chained hands, she
Cried against calamity
“You have tried to destroy me
And though I perish daily”
‘I shall not be moved’
Her universe, often
Summarized into one black body
Falling finally from the tree to her feet
Made her cry each time into a new voice,
“All my past hastens to defeat
And strangers claim the glory of my love
Iniquity has bound me to this bed”
“Yet, I must not be moved”
She heard the names
Swirling ribbons in the winds of history:
‘Mammy, property, creature, ape, baboon, hot tail, thing, it,’
She said, “But my description cannot
Fit your tongue, for
I have a certain way of being in this world.”
“And I shall not, I shall not be moved”
No angel stretched protecting wings
Above the heads of her children
Fluttering and urging the winds of reason
Into the confusions of their lives
They sprouted like young weeds
But she could not shield their growth
From the grinding blades of ignorance, nor
Shape them into symbolic tapestries.
She sent them away
Underground, overland, in coaches and
Shoeless.
“When you learn, teach
When you get, give,”
“As for me,”
“I shall not be moved”
She stood in mid-ocean, seeking dry land
She searched for God's face
Assured
She placed her fire of service
On the altar, and though
Clothed in the finery of faith
When she appeared at the temple door
No sign welcomed her coming with a sign saying,
“Black Grandmother, Enter here”
Into the crashing sound
Into wickedness, she cried -
“No one, no, nor no one million
Ones dare deny my God, I go forth
Along, and stand as ten thousands”
“The Divine upon my right
Impels me to pull forever
At the latch on Freedom's gate”
The Holy Spirit upon my left leads my
Feet without ceasing into the camp of the
Righteousness and into the tents of the free
These momma faces, lemon-yellow, plum-purple
Honey-brown, have grimaced and twisted
Down a pyramid for years
She is Sojourner Truth
Harriet Tubman, Zora Hurston
Mary McCloud Bethune, Angela Davis
Annie Lee Horton and Zenobia.
She stands
Before the abortion clinics,
Confounded by the lack of choices.
In the Welfare lines,
Reduced to the pity of handouts.
Ordained in the pulpit, shielded,
by the ministries of faith.
In the operating rooms,
husbanding life.
In the choir lofts,
holding God in her throat.
In the classrooms, loving the
Children and understanding.
Centered on the world's stage
She sings to her loves and beloveds
To her foes and detractors:
“However I am perceived and deceived
However my ignorance and conceits
Lay aside your fears that I will not be undone.”
“For I shall not be moved”
The speaker is the voice of many women who escaped slavery to become the beautiful, strong women of today.
She lay, face down in the moist dirt
The breaking of chains rustling
With the whispers of leaves
the loud longing of hounds and
The ransack of hunters crackling the near
Branches
She muttered, lifting her head a nod toward
Freedom
“I shall not, I shall not be moved”
She gathered her babies
Their tears slick as oil on black faces
Their young eyes canvassing mornings of madness
“Momma, is Master going to sell you
From us tomorrow?”
“Yes
Unless you keep walking more
And talking less.”
“Yes
Unless the keeper of our lives
Releases me from all commandments.”
“Yes
And your lives
Never mine to live
Will be executed upon the killing floor of
Innocents,
Unless you match my heart and words
Saying with me,”
“I shall not be moved”
In Virginia tobacco fields
Leaning into the curve
Of Steinway
Pianos, along Arkansas roads
In the red hills of Georgia
Into the palms of her chained hands, she
Cried against calamity
“You have tried to destroy me
And though I perish daily”
‘I shall not be moved’
Her universe, often
Summarized into one black body
Falling finally from the tree to her feet
Made her cry each time into a new voice,
“All my past hastens to defeat
And strangers claim the glory of my love
Iniquity has bound me to this bed”
“Yet, I must not be moved”
She heard the names
Swirling ribbons in the winds of history:
‘Mammy, property, creature, ape, baboon, hot tail, thing, it,’
She said, “But my description cannot
Fit your tongue, for
I have a certain way of being in this world.”
“And I shall not, I shall not be moved”
No angel stretched protecting wings
Above the heads of her children
Fluttering and urging the winds of reason
Into the confusions of their lives
They sprouted like young weeds
But she could not shield their growth
From the grinding blades of ignorance, nor
Shape them into symbolic tapestries.
She sent them away
Underground, overland, in coaches and
Shoeless.
“When you learn, teach
When you get, give,”
“As for me,”
“I shall not be moved”
She stood in mid-ocean, seeking dry land
She searched for God's face
Assured
She placed her fire of service
On the altar, and though
Clothed in the finery of faith
When she appeared at the temple door
No sign welcomed her coming with a sign saying,
“Black Grandmother, Enter here”
Into the crashing sound
Into wickedness, she cried -
“No one, no, nor no one million
Ones dare deny my God, I go forth
Along, and stand as ten thousands”
“The Divine upon my right
Impels me to pull forever
At the latch on Freedom's gate”
The Holy Spirit upon my left leads my
Feet without ceasing into the camp of the
Righteousness and into the tents of the free
These momma faces, lemon-yellow, plum-purple
Honey-brown, have grimaced and twisted
Down a pyramid for years
She is Sojourner Truth
Harriet Tubman, Zora Hurston
Mary McCloud Bethune, Angela Davis
Annie Lee Horton and Zenobia.
She stands
Before the abortion clinics,
Confounded by the lack of choices.
In the Welfare lines,
Reduced to the pity of handouts.
Ordained in the pulpit, shielded,
by the ministries of faith.
In the operating rooms,
husbanding life.
In the choir lofts,
holding God in her throat.
In the classrooms, loving the
Children and understanding.
Centered on the world's stage
She sings to her loves and beloveds
To her foes and detractors:
“However I am perceived and deceived
However my ignorance and conceits
Lay aside your fears that I will not be undone.”
“For I shall not be moved”