North 

​

 

And this is how we dreamed,

one bare foot in front of the other,

one desperate soul, in front of the other, my hand on

your back, in the darkness, and

us bent at the waist, as if somehow our very bodies

could be bowed into a

whisper.

 

And this is how we dreamed,

near naked, our best rags,

stowed in a tattered rucksack,

packed away  safe, for that day when we made it

North.

 

They said, there’s milk and honey up there,

they said, that they pay you, for your work, up there.

Babies suckle at their mother’s breasts,

never to be torn away, up there.

North.

 

And this is how we dreamed,

 

secrets, hidden in our work songs,

we’d sing “Steal away, steal away, steal away to Jesus,

Steal away, steal away home.

I ain’t got long to stay here.”

and under our breath, a code that told of the day

and time for our departure.

And this is how we dreamed,   

of going  North.

 

We learned to follow the signs;

the way the trees bent, or where the moss grew

even our little children understood that to get north,

 you follow the drinking gourd, some call it

the lil’ dipper, home of the North Star; the pole star,

Polaris, which always points North.

 

And this is how we dreamed,

 

 they said, that a slave up North,

is freer than a free Negro, in the South;

and we believed it.

 

They said, that we could learn our ABCs

and readin’, writin’ and rithmatic ,

without fear of being whipped or starved

as punishment,  

and we believed that too.

 

And so bruised and bright eyed, we climbed and

stumbled through wood and thistle,

 barn yard and swamp; goin’  

North, North always North.

 

We watched for the secret signs, of the, Underground

Railroad.

Here and there  we met a conductor, who

provided a cool drink of water and a meal,

a warm place to spend  the night

some even lead us, safe passages, through

woods and swamps, some put us on  boats or  trains;

with a prayer of fare-thee- well,

and a hopeful hand

pointing, the way North.

 

And this is how we dreamed;

 

not about  a flag or  a country,

not about vengeance or hate,

we dreamed about walking out into the world,

without someone standing behind us with a whip.

We dreamed about speaking up for ourselves, having

our own voices, our own opinions, without fear.

 

And this is how we dreamed:

 

But the reality that we found,

is that no matter how far north you run,

you are still, always south of some-place;

perhaps it’s just south of your, own expectations,

perhaps it’s south of  opportunity,

 

perhaps you feel as if you have fallen into that

“Sunken Place”

and you realize that the farthest north you ever made it

was Charlottesville;

with it’s  tiki-torch toting “good people,”

who came from every corner of this country, talking

about “heritage,” lamenting the removal their

monuments to rape, murder and exploitation .  

 

Perhaps you’ve fallen, into that place of

gerrymandering, suppressed voting and hate crimes.

Perhaps you have found yourself south of the fact,

that for every Barack Obama, there is a Ben Carson,  

and for every Michelle there is an Omarosa,

for every Colin Kaepernick there is

a Sheriff, David Clarke;

 

 And so:  

Perhaps now, in 2018, that long journey North was

really, always about those ancestors; who sacrificed

everything. So that we might look south, across the

border, at starry eyed neighbors, braving  coyotes

and deserts,  armed with little more than hope, and

a hand full of, well-worn rosary beads, trudging one

foot in front of the other . praying that someone will

say; 

 “I understand your dream”.

 

Maybe in 2018 our journey north, was really always

about, us learning how to look  across the ocean,

at neighbors running from  bombed out cities, where

they have had to dig their loved ones, gray bodies, out

from under the concrete rubble, of  places they once

called home.

Maybe our horrible journey was always meant

to teach us how to say to them;

“I understand your dream.”

 

Maybe in 2018, our ancestor’s, desperate, journeys

were really, always about us calling our relatives in

South Carolina, and Ohio and Michigan and asking them

“Are you registered to vote? Do you have a way to

get to the poll?  Do you know where your voting poll

is; are you sure that it hasn’t been moved?”

 

 

Because we need for them to know,

that North in  2018 and 2020;  is about the flag

and  is about this country.

We are in a political “Me Too” moment,

and we are saying “Time’s Up!”

 

And so, yes, this is how we dreamed;

 

one bare foot in front of the other, near naked,

our best rags, stowed in a tattered rucksack, packed

away, safe for that day when we made it.

 

North.