Activist Poetry

“Activist Poetry”
“The Middle Passage remains a stain upon the waters”
to see, to touch the past, is, unfortunately
impossible
even a headstone
a shackle, a slave cabin upon the fertile soil of the Delta does
not
does not reach out and throttle the now
but…
however,
a picture, of an ancestor, a stern slave holder
who raped your great-great-great grandmother
that, that creates a churning acid reaction, all the
more potent
for being two centuries later
in the abstract, chickens and cows and Negroes
as property, tabulated
economics fueling westward expansion
labor needed here
laborers, in abundance here
here,
being Africa, there
being the Americas, both north and south
and not all at that, poor white indentured
slaves as well
but
demand -ie white planters and the Five Civilized Tribes in the South,
White merchants and whalers in the North
met supply in the
Black rulers of Africa
the Arab traders shifting from dhows to cargo
more profitable than rum and molasses
ivory and gems
Dutch and English, American and Portuguese,
a trail of blood chumming the Triangular Trade,
French wine and death
wool and Spanish steel
all profited, all suffered
the records of Lloyd’s, deeds of transfers
scoured, seeking names not recorded,
births not celebrated
marriages not sanctified
cultures destroyed and yet,
out of the perished millions there arose
jazz
creole
rap
a pride in being black
being a victim, no longer enough
yes, this marks the resting place of a slave and
yes
this is my ancestor, my family, my tragedy, my heritage
my land
my history
my right to look at the past and say that the
Middle Passage
never ended
never began
that slavery remains an ever present evil under heaven

unknown author