I am the black book.
Ah...
Between my top and my bottom,
my right and my left,
I hold what I have seen,
what I have done, what I have thought.
I am everything I have hated.
Labor without harvest,
death without honor,
life without land or law.
I am a black woman
holding a white child in her arms,
singing to her own baby,
lying unattended in the grass.
And I'm all the ways I have failed.
I am the black slave owner,
the buyer of golden peacock bleach cream
and Dr. Palmer's skin whitener.
The self -hating player of the dozens,
I have my own nigger joke.
I am the black book.
I am all the ways I survive.
I am Tunmush,
hoecake cooked on a hoe
I am 14 black jockeys
winning the Kentucky Derby
I am the creator of hundreds
of patented inventions
I am Lafitte the pirate and Marie Laveau
I am Bessie Smith
winning a roller skating contest
I am quilts and ironwood,
fine carpentry an d lace
I am the wars I fought,
the gold I mined,
the horses I broke,
the trails I blazed.
I am the black book.
I'm all the things
I have seen.
The New York Caucasian newspaper,
the scarred back of Gordon,
the slave, the draft riots,
darky tunes and merchants distorting my face to sell bread,
soap, shoe polish, coconut.
And I am all the things I have
ever loved.
Scoopin' on wine,
cool baptisms in silent water,
dream books and number play,
and the sound of my own voice
singing sangaree,
and ring shouts and blues,
ragtime and gospels,
I am mojo, voodoo,
and gold earrings.
I'm not complete here,
there is much more,
but there is no more time,
and no more space.
And I have journeys to take,
and ships to name, and crews.
I am the Black Book.
You