i was infatuated by zora neale hurston
for the longest time.
i used to think that
she was a better revolutionary
than james baldwin,
than richard wright,
than w.e.b. du bois.
because when they left america
for france and ghana
she stayed.
she stayed,
and fought,
and as her eyes watched god
she told us that,
“no hour is ever eternity,
it has its right to weep.”
so weep for an hour.
but this hour is long,
and the day’s light can’t save us.
i don’t know what to think anymore.
there’s too much pain here.
where do you go when even
paris threw copper coins at coltrane
the first time he played?