The Gleam in Their Eyes

Arched knees

Bent Backs

Muffled Screams

Staggered sighs

Criss-crossed Scars

All a gleam in their eye

Force fed lies of swelled bellies and begging arms

Of Jim Crows and Coons

 Beds made in forest shrubbery

Faces turned black and blue

Faces emerge in vanilla skies

In the bark of rough oak trees traced beneath smooth fingers

Skin refusing to break under pressure

Hope flowing in their veins

Freedom palpitating against pressed ears

The face that caught the blows

The feet singed with subservience

The bodies dragged away into darkness

They will tell their stories

And they will win