Black History

I realize now there is no DNA test that can tell me what line of African Kings I descended from. I wish I could say I came from Kush and my ancestors bathed in the confluence of the Blue and White Nile, but it ain’t going to happen and in the cosmic scheme of things, it really doesn’t matter. I’ve come to realize the most important thing I am is what I was yesterday and my firsts may come tomorrow. You cannot take that away from me.

I may or may not be a third generation something or other, but I am great in my eyes. I hope others see what I aspire to. I hope my head and heart see it that way, maybe you will too. I don’t assume to be perfect or even always good but I am the first and only me. I proclaim I am HUMAN as imperfect as that might be. I demand Human Rights, not civil rights, those meager things you give based on class and privilege, but the fundamental things that come with drawing breath. I realize those things are not universal or absolute but in this time and in this place I stand and say I AM A MAN and nothing you say or do not say will make that mutable.

So keep your history. I don’t need it. I will make history as I go. I don’t need accolades or letters after my name. I need not someone to mark my passing or carry on my name. Simply being me, I have planted a banner that will eventually tatter and fall, but it will have stood for me and I will have stood for something.

The New Black

Black is color of my life. Black are my lover’s eyes. Black her swaddling clothes. She races life in black stilettos, my, my, my. Black is life before creation. Black is life after the apocalypse. The night sky is Black crepe with junkie tracks we call stars. Black like me. Yes. Yes. Black is the color of my heart. Black are my tears. Black is my blood, It vanishes into the black earth. The pits of hell are black. My deeds are black. My future is black. My children are black. The stories I read them have black morals. My children will come to a black end. They are young, gifted and too black. Shoe shine black. Boot black. Tar baby black. Black gold. Black is beautiful. Black is where it’s at. Jazz is black. Didn’t you know. Blues is black. Black is blues. Just a variation. But it’s black. I read black. I buy black. I f**k black. God is Black. You didn’t know that either. Black is the road. Black is the fast car shuffling us to the brink of humiliation. The President is Black. It’s a black thing. That’s a black joke. Black is the long journey perforated by an occasional riot we call color. Black is what we close our eyes to. Remember that. Black is what we close our eyes to. And still we rise because what else are we to do. We are Black.