We’ll weep, Black Sister, we’ll weep together
For her whose home is dust.
Charcoaled ashes from riot weather,
A bitter wind of mistrust.
Hatred lies smoldering, pungent, and deep,
Shifting like sand.
Will she have a memory to keep
In this abounding land?
Must we, like Antigone, daughter of despair,
Live without sweet reconciliation
And beyond deeds of repair?
They’ve forgotten, those men of the law’s creation,
Whom the law should heed.
They’re not for you, Sister, so we must weep.
*from Poets are the Bravest, written 1968