"Descendants" Poem By V.G. Grace

Descendants

                                                             
                                                           

He fixed his eyes

on the blazing sun,

she had shared its fire since their era had begun.

It had been their children's century

and many more.

It had been eternity

since they had longed for shore.

Revolutions had come and gone.

Blood

had been paid

from their evening

to our dawn.

Maybe it had been suffering

that shaped their souls,

maybe the new world's abominations

which tried to destroy

what was whole.

It took

days of pain

and years of sweat

to find

partial freedom

and half-won

victory.

It took scarred years

and swollen wounds,

to battle spirits

of unearned fury.

The woman stood with her womb

possessing a lifetime,

a people,

a reason to survive;

the man stood with his back,

his strength,

his woman;

both leaning on each other's hearts,

in spite of history--

alive.

Mississippi delta to Baltimore town,

New Orleans to New York state;

search for home,

another way,

kept coming.

The descendants kept trying

to leave behind hate.

Middle of the country

to waters on the coast;

but the ancestors' longings

haunted them as ghosts.

Bodies submerged in bitter waters

of years past and to come;

the past repeats itself

in new

bitter

ways--

creating new oceans

the people flow from.

It will take more

time

for justice to become whole.

It will take more

time

for the descendants to

reclaim

what thieves stole.

"Recollection" A Poem by V.G. Grace

This poem came to me one autumn night, as part of a poetry anthology I have an idea for, set in 1920's - 1930's Harlem, New York. Each poem would be told from the point of view of individual characters---both dead and alive. My character's poem is told from the perspective of an unlucky-in-love young woman called Bertha Todd.


I'm very much inspired by the greats during this period such as Zora Neale Hurston & Langston Hughes and am excited about the possibility of ultimately writing this anthology of poems!

I came on a 'Carolina wind,

open,

unschooled;


certain I could take on

the city--

my mother didn't raise a fool.



My eyes were the color of spring green grass.
 

The city had in store for me

somethin' cold and fast.


 

A shabby boarding-house room

was all I could afford--

was no matter.

I was gonna save my money

and trust in the Lord.


 

I met a good-lookin' man with a coolness to his ways.
 

Fell hard,

but didn't know 

it was gonna be the end of my days.



It was good for a piece,

but it turned sour

quick.


I was too simple,

he needed

"a ballin' gal";


I thought him so beautiful,

so slick.


So I did what he wanted--

changing my

face,

body,

and head.

 

Turned myself inside-out,

drinkin' the nights away,

lips painted his favorite color;

blood red.


I did everything he asked 

and more.
 

But one night

he said he'd found himself a different gal--

that I'd become a bore.


I watched his back recede

into the cold

night

air.


I grabbed a bottle of whiskey

and drank

to wasted affairs,

then I bought a bottle of wine

and drank 'til I didn't care.



I started

dancin' wild

in the street.

 

Didn't hear that automobile comin'

or saw it's lights,
 

but my eyes did land on the moon in the sky

before hittin' the concrete.



Don't know why,

but my last recollection 

is mama in the kitchen frying fish--

fresh cod.



My name?

It was Bertha Todd.