Tired

TIRED

            A 21^st century response to Fenton Johnson’s 1918 poem.

I am tired of expectations; I am tired of holding up somebody else’s made up roles.

Let me relax for a moment

And then

I’m gonna walk up to the city, turn my face up to the marquee and drink in the idea of a memory of the world that is supposed to be mine.

I will shake off the responsibility to make the cotton fields mean something more

Then uncuff my own shackles of making up for lost time

For the women who birthed me

And the men who kept me fed

I just wanna be in the city sipping gin with Zora, laughing about Tea Cakes we loved and fear to love. Crying with Nella about passing for something we ain’t but don’t haveta be to be…

Throw the future in the Hudson, sink it down with the past.

It is better to die than it is to grow up and find out that you are

colored

covered

molded

to be some stand in for a dream that was lynched on a sticky red poplar then            castrated and burned

Catch the shooting stars by their tails and connect the lines of the drinking gourd then follow it North until you are

no

longer

tired.