Harvest Time

I

Overcast daytime clouds conspire to block out the sun.

A dark faced, dark handed woman limps, hard
head wrapped in material matching flowing garments the color of far away;
the color of exile.

My mother tells me there’s nothing for her in the land that contains her
physical connection to forever, but somehow
i live to taste such soil.
Have i robbed her of this desire, selfishly making hers my own?

Don’t you know this place blocks out the sun?

We limp lifeless, either draping ourselves in longing, or
disrobing ourselves memory. All of it so heavy
for tired bones
in fading skin
whose yearning melanin is maliciously denied its lifeline.
Even the skies of this place conspire against us.

Oh great forces of the Universe! Are we beyond mercy?
Left here languishing in the land of the lost where even the skies conspire against us.

II

Babylon ain’t had no rivers till we showed up

Dragged cross land and sand and sea and Universe
Each one
With enough tears to make islands out of continents

But too little to drown
our soulless captors

A thought too magnificent for weary imaginations.

But neglected weeds choke the farmer

Rise mighty weeds
sown round the world and
cultivated in the patient soil of justice. Rise

Common seed of Creation
Shared seed of destruction. Rise!
Neglected weeds. Choke the farmer

Harvest

is long overdue.

-amari