"Crossing Over"
I walked the "Bridge" today
over the most beautiful flowing river,
under the most beneficent blue skies.
Together in pairs,
we walked--
silently, prayerfully.
We crossed the bridge,
imagining a different blue sea below--
a sea of blue deputies
with clubs, tear gas,
on horseback--
there to greet the marchers.
There is power in that Bridge--
it is the power of all those souls
committed to lay down their lives
and lay aside the ordinary
joys and sorrows of their lives.
There they marched--
the children changed forever
And all those we met-
committed to voting rights,
to freedom while
singing, praying,
training in non violence.
Feet marched, souls soared,
crossing over.
Can we continue the crossing?
Will we realize in the marrow of our bones
the great sacrifices they made
that all humanity must carry on?
As a witness to this hallowed ground
how can I ever be the same,
Or go back to what I grew up with in the South
of my childhood?
I think of the Sankofa, the turnaround bird
that turns around to see where it has been
while holding the egg of the future,
of what will be.
My ancestors, and white folks in general--
everywhere, not just the South,
have imbibed the intoxicating liquor
of power and privilege.
"Aint going to let nobody turn me around"
May I sing that song, that prayer
every day of my life
till this life ends.
So may it be.
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