Soon One Morning, I'll Fly Away
Where does heart rest, breath originate
where is buried afterbirth, what world is flavored
with the sweetness of mother milk, spiced by a jigger
of father essence unmercifully purifying, trellissed
by the communal touch of kind and kin heat tough
as the sun spear of cloudless august noon
While we trod life's tribulation bridge and seek to craft
some small sweet space from the loam of this bitter earth
whether in shit storm or sun shade there is but one certain
fuel to animate our keeping on, and that be our deep
belief tear-crystal clear, regardless of which exploiter
we labor beneath, the end of our existence is that we black
Weary travelers, being not from here, must death rise & return
to the spirit space wherein we dwelled before we were birthed
—kalamu ya salaam