Eunice HeathTate

for the record
for david and mark

it is your father's anniversary
and grandma's sitting in silence
looking out the corner
of a poets eyes
at the segments of history
richly colored
well preserved
seeing that part
of him who is gone
and is now you

what to give you
she ponders
when you wonder out loud
what it would feel like to claim
a father's memory
and trademark it your own

and you will
so she must tell the story
again and again
again and again
again and again
until the story
becomes the gift
now yours

some day
you too, will tell it
to a rapt audience
but remember this
loss and hunger
are bearable things

and know this
there's always food
in grandma's kitchen
and a warm bed waiting
waiting·

the wonder of you
(for cynthia schloss)

i have not
known you through
the covenant of blood

we have never
invented notes to form alliance
or collaborated
in the struggles of a yardie

no    we have no history
except via africa
and jamaica

but i feel
we©ˆve danced together
in sad movies
on the battered fields of mississippi

knowing all the time
what it meant
to be all the way in
or all the way out

but having nurtured
wounded words
that look like love
the wonder of you will turn
in the world©ˆs memory

rest now my sister
your work here is done

history mourns
(savannah, July 2001)

at the historical district
where you waited
thinly clothed
ornate flesh taut
i heard you call my name

my goose flesh answer
your welcoming voices
who are you?
i was told of the waving girl
the cathedral of st. john the baptist
shown midnight in the garden
of good & evil
but not once did a guide
mentioned slaves

yet i feel your dark presence
in the cobblestone streets
lingering under flamboyant trees
dressed in garments of moss
waiting        forever waiting
to answer to your tribal name

tell me what you were called
before the sailing
before the light
tell me
tell me that i might
tell this old new story
of the unremembered many

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© 2004 by Eunice Tate