Black Mamma-faces
This is a narrative poem about a female slave who escapes slavery. The speaker is the voice of many female slaves with hope had overcame obstacles against all odds to escape slavery to become the free, strong, independent and beautiful women of today
She lay, skin down in the moist dirt
The breaking of chains rustling
With the whispers of leaves
Loud longing of hounds and
The ransack of hunters crackling the near
Branches
She muttered, lifting her head a nod toward
Freedom
I shall not, I shall not be moved
She gathered her babies
Their tears slick as oil on black faces
Their young eyes canvassing mornings of madness
Momma, is Master going to sell you
From us tomorrow?
Yes
Unless you keep walking more
And talking less
Yes
Unless the keeper of our lives
Releases me from all commandments
Yes
And your lives
Never mine to live
Will be executed upon the killing floor of
Innocents
Unless you match my heart and words
Saying with me
I shall not be moved
In Virginia tobacco fields
Leaning into the curve
Of Steinway
Pianos, along Arkansas roads
In the red hills of Georgia
Into the palms of her chained hands, she
Cried against calamity
You have tried to destroy me
And though I perish daily
I shall not be moved
Her universe, often
Summarized into one black body
Falling finally from the tree to her feet
Made her cry each time into a new voice
All my past hastens to defeat
And strangers claim the glory of my love
Iniquity has bound me to his bed
Yet, I must not be moved
She heard the names
Swirling ribbons in the wind of history:
Mammy, property, creature, ape, baboon, hot tail, thing, it
She said, But my description cannot
Fit your tongue, for
I have a certain way of being in this world
And I shall not, I shall not be moved
No angel stretched protecting wings
Above the heads of her children
Fluttering and urging the winds of reason
Into the confusions of their lives
They sprouted like young weeds
But she could not shield their growth
From the grinding blades of ignorance, nor
Shape them into symbolic topiaries
She sent them away
Underground, overland, in coaches and
Shoeless
When you learn, teach
When you get, give
As for me
I shall not be moved
She stood in midocean, seeking dry land
She searched God's face
Assured
She placed her fire of service
On the altar, and though
Clothed in the finery of faith
When she appeared at the temple door
No sign welcomed
Black Grandmother, Enter here
Into the crashing sound
Into wickedness, she cried
No one, no, nor no one million
Ones dare deny me God, I go forth
Along, and stand as ten thousand
The Divine upon my right
Impels me to pull forever
At the latch on Freedom's gate
The Holy Spirit upon my left leads my
Feet without ceasing into the camp of the
Righteous and into the tents of the free
These momma faces, lemon-yellow, plum-purple
Honey-brown, have grimaced and twisted
Down a pyramid for years
She is Sojourner Truth
Harriet Tubman and Zora Hurston
Mary McCloud Bethune and Angela Davis
Annie Lee Hortan to Zenobia
She stands
Before the abortion clinics
Confounded by the lack of choices
In the Welfare lines
Reduced to the pity of handouts
Ordained in the pulpit, shielded
By the mysteries
In the operating rooms
Husbanding life
In the choir lofts
Holding God in her throat
On lonely street corners
Hawking her body
In the classrooms, loving the
Children to understanding
Centered on the world's stage
She sings to her loves and beloveds
To her foes and detractors:
However I am perceived and deceived
However my ignorance and conceits
Lay aside your fears that I will be undone
For I shall not be moved