Chasm

Across the divide he reminds
This
Is what they want of me.
Hair pressed into submission
One night stocking, du-rag at a time;
Laces undone
As if no knot was the ultimate rebellion.

The is what they want of me;
Clean-shaven
No curly-curl reminders about my face
How dare this nigger take such a relaxed unkempt approach
And have the cells to hold conversation
Equation to me!

Across the divide
I witness them in study.
The degree of understanding the negro,
I guess you would call it conundrum,
Engrosses their faces
Because despite the media's truths,
Despite law enforcement's truth,
Despite that hidden
Truth
We are so much more than the sum presented,
They still have not a clue as to what to make of
Us
Here in these hills of opportunity and dreams
Long past their glimmer
Now rusted shackles waiting for the next soul
To wait to be sold.

I will never be the man across from me.
Will never long to be that of the now
Pressed,
Or as the old-timers said
'Fried, dyed, and laid to the side'
Of individuality
And a desire to remind myself of past paradises tumultuous
Yet teeming with a hope
Now relegated to rose-hued faded snapshots
Collecting dust on a mantle
And digital snippets of a Soul Train dance line
As we boogie-woogied into a future,
I would argue,
That was far bleaker than our past
Across the divide amongst
And within ourselves.
©2014clarencecbess