Hear
the poet read this work.
Roxane
Beth Johnson
Call-Song
This is a poem about white people coming
into our church. They
come to hear the music, don ’t care about salvation. They
come to
hear the choir sing. Sit in the back smelling like perfume. They
are looking for blackness, that sound that makes them feel some-
thing, they don’t know what, we say it’s shame. They
come to
hear music that sounds greater, wider than theirs they don ’t
know
why but their parents Cotton Clubbed, so they believe it’s
theirs.
This is a poem about white people coming into our church and
they say I am beautiful, I look almost white. They don’t
care
about salvation. They come to hear the choir sing. This is a poem
about the choir singing off-key and the preacher getting mad.
This is a poem about the preacher getting mad when the white
people say I am pretty I look almost white and the music is
divine, clapping their hands. They come to hear the choir sing.
Don’t care about salvation. This is a poem about the preacher
shaking her cane at them, waving it low above their heads like
Jesus with the thieves. This is a poem about the preacher who
swallowed rage like a mouthful of blood. This is a poem about
white people who came to our church. To hear the music. Had to
hurry leave but with a tale to tell. How crazy black people are!
Did you see her hit that beautiful child?
|
Return to Issue Two.
