A Morning in Harlem
Harlem morning, borne of
black flesh
Rays of the red sun bathe
roofs of uneven houses with
grace splendidly sweet in nature
Old men, one with a dog in tow,
hug palatial corners and talk
politics because they are politics
No rain or water can wash
the history of your hallow grounds on
which names are written with the stain
of progress in process
Young and old walk boulevards and
avenues, a world colored by the beautiful
sons and daughters of Isis
Ethiopia’s out-stretched hands have found
a home in your warm bosom as a spark
awaits to catch fire against injustice and wrong
The voices of your prophets ring true, and
poverty’s reign is threatened every
morning your domicide is
incomplete
