A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature. Over 15,000 daily subscribers. Over 6,000 archived posts.
to the pounding of drums
Oh, America, how many tears do you want
before you stop killing our sons?
How many gallons of our black tears
does your belly need? How much blood,
how much grief, how many mothers
do you want to send to their graves, wailing?
How much sacrifice
does your god of hate demand?
Tell us, and we will ask our ancestors
to send us help.
Oh, America, oh, dear old America,
oh, you of the heartless part of America,
oh, corridor of hate,
oh, America that we so love,
oh, beloved America,
my people, this land of “freedom,” oh!
Neighbor, can I borrow your tears
to help us put out this raging fire
from hate?
Oh, friend, please lend us your tears
to help our dry eyes find the water
we need to weep.
Oh, come, let us wail another of our sons,
come, my kinsmen, and sit on The Mat with me,
and let us wail together,
white and black, brown and all.
We alone are not sufficient to wail this dirge
we must sing to cover the many sons
we are burying.
Copyright 2022 Patricia Jabbeh Wesley
Patricia Jabbeh Wesley is a survivor of the Liberian Civil War who now lives in Pennsylvania. Her many books include Praise Song for My Children: New and Selected Poems (Autumn House, 2020).
To the pounding drums and the blood that pounds in our ears. “This is wrong”
LikeLiked by 1 person