Black Girl and an Empty Seat 04/20/13
I sit here lonely staring out the window into abandoned fields; warehouses wondering..
"Did somebody once work in this factory"
"Does the governments number 116-45-124 live here at night because they couldn't get their life right"
"Does a gang do their gang initiations in this building"
"Did mommys great grandmother work these fields that used to produce cotton"
"Did papas great grandfather get skinned on that telephone pole for something he never did"
"Did my suppose to be great grandfather rape mommys grandma in that abandoned white house"
"Do these fields cover the blood my ancestors shed?"
"Do the fields cover the roadways that led my ancestors to freedom"
As I sit on this train; melanin filled pigment is the bridge that keeps the white man from sitting next to me.
It keeps the British immigrant staring at me because his grandfather skinned my great great grandaddy . It keeps a white woman standing at the end of the cart because she scared she may be the subject to my revenge.
Maybe these fields hold a remembrance to them of the damage they caused.
Maybe they realized that the black man was always stronger but there was never a true battle when a gun is being held To your temple; when your skin is holding you up on a telephone pole.
The white men and women on this train fear me and the seat next to me because I am stronger than them and they have no gun in the holster to hold to my head.
They have no telephone pole to hang me on while I ;
I have my fist that picked fields year ago to punch them with;
my feet that traveled the underground railroad in shackles to stomp them with;
my history to make them vomit;
my glare to make them yell they're sorry.
This is why I am the black girl with an empty train seat
because whites fear the fight they see in the eyes that stare back at them
Because they see my fist trembling. Will the fields beyond these windows soon be a battlefield?
Will these whites soon be buried in the fields where my ancestors bled? Will they soon apologize for the wrong they have done?
Will I forever be the black girl accompanied by an empty seat?
"Did somebody once work in this factory"
"Does the governments number 116-45-124 live here at night because they couldn't get their life right"
"Does a gang do their gang initiations in this building"
"Did mommys great grandmother work these fields that used to produce cotton"
"Did papas great grandfather get skinned on that telephone pole for something he never did"
"Did my suppose to be great grandfather rape mommys grandma in that abandoned white house"
"Do these fields cover the blood my ancestors shed?"
"Do the fields cover the roadways that led my ancestors to freedom"
As I sit on this train; melanin filled pigment is the bridge that keeps the white man from sitting next to me.
It keeps the British immigrant staring at me because his grandfather skinned my great great grandaddy . It keeps a white woman standing at the end of the cart because she scared she may be the subject to my revenge.
Maybe these fields hold a remembrance to them of the damage they caused.
Maybe they realized that the black man was always stronger but there was never a true battle when a gun is being held To your temple; when your skin is holding you up on a telephone pole.
The white men and women on this train fear me and the seat next to me because I am stronger than them and they have no gun in the holster to hold to my head.
They have no telephone pole to hang me on while I ;
I have my fist that picked fields year ago to punch them with;
my feet that traveled the underground railroad in shackles to stomp them with;
my history to make them vomit;
my glare to make them yell they're sorry.
This is why I am the black girl with an empty train seat
because whites fear the fight they see in the eyes that stare back at them
Because they see my fist trembling. Will the fields beyond these windows soon be a battlefield?
Will these whites soon be buried in the fields where my ancestors bled? Will they soon apologize for the wrong they have done?
Will I forever be the black girl accompanied by an empty seat?
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