A Cause for Celebration
A hanging in Northport, Alabama, 1897
Welcome to this joyful event.
Boot heels stomp
to the pulled strings
of the fiddle.
Spilt ale bridges the gaps
between pale fingers
as upturned jugs
pass in celebration.
The scent of wet leaves
and raucous laughter
fill my head.
Am I alone?
Or does the cold wet ground
only reserve these sounds
for those who are one breath
from its embrace?
My chaffed wrists are slit,
filling fast with rope fibers
and warm blood.
My throat burns
in anticipation
of the rope’s turn
to place its fingers
around my neck.
The slightest movement
flakes the dried semen
of my four rapists.
Look as they kick
to the boot heel’s rhythm.
I wish that was all they took.
Flakes fall as the noose’s knot
brings my ear to a searing hot,
I am forced to stand
upon unstable legs.
Replaying the look on my son’s face
as they did the same.
He’s eight, how can he feel
shame?
His non-cry
as the knot slides
and he begins to die
gives me the strength
not to beg.
A nigger hanging
such a joyful event,
so I smile.
Source: Poetry (February 2021)