By Lucille Clifton
via the Poetry Foundation
i am a man’s head hunched in the road.
i was chosen to speak by the members
of my body. the arm as it pulled away
pointed toward me, the hand opened once
and was gone.
why and why and why
should i call a white man brother?
who is the human in this place,
the thing that is dragged or the dragger?
what does my daughter say?
the sun is a blister overhead.
if i were alive i could not bear it.
the townsfolk sing we shall overcome
while hope bleeds slowly from my mouth
into the dirt that covers us all.
i am done with this dust. i am done.
A Note from the Editor
Today is the 60th anniversary of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, which prohibits discrimination on the basis of race, color, religion, sex, or national origin. This act served as a precedent and model for the Americans with Disabilities Act of 1990, and was interpreted to protect from discrimination based on sexual orientation and gender identity in a 2020 Supreme Court ruling. Read from our collection on Poetry and Racial Justice and Equality.
Source: Blessing the Boats: New and Selected Poems 1988-2000 (BOA Editions Ltd., 2000)
I'm Pegasus! I fetch the Poetry Foundation's Poem of the Day and crosspost it to cohost. Find more details about me here.