The Apple Trees in Sussex

        I did not climb the apple trees in Sussex
	or wait upon the queen in London town 
	they courted me in sweltering Mississippi 
	with birch and thong to bring the cotton down

For I have come 
not to bring peace
but your heads in a block, my lovelies, 
cried the captain
	of the slaver, standing
	out of Liverpool, plying 
	between Guinea 
	and the land of the glorious free
	the abiding place of the sullen, querulous slave; 
and Montaigne reminds us that stout and aging ladies, 
abandoned but not long forlorn,
plucked the eyes of their young male chattel 
to shepherd a crouched submission
into their care

Locked in the dungeon of those gutted years, doomed 
	in time 
pinned in the silent back rooms of unhindered desire, 
to each his stock of dark rolling pride, 
no seer to serve as overseer, who served as his own breeder
fertilizing the stunned flesh feeded the rows of cotton 
deep in the blistering hell of Mississippi; 
by the Delta they descended down
	into the pit
forsaken by Shango and Damballah, down
	to the fist and the terror, down
	to the whip and the whim
	to the blazing heat of the field by day
	and the raging lust of the big house by night and all pale 
		and ravenous things. 

	I did not climb the apple trees in Sussex 
	I’ll never hail the Queen in London town
	I spent eternity in Mississippi 
	whose grace was death
		to bring the cotton down.

High in the darkening heavens

the wind swift, the storm massing

the giant arrow rose, a crackling arch, a sign

above the fleeing band of people,

joy figures in the canebrake

far below.

In the distance, moving up quickly

came the patterrollers

bloodhounds loping, silent.

Minutes before, one of the fleeing band had fallen

the others for a moment waited

but he did not rise.

A small dark woman stood above him.

His words were slow to come and more a groan:

Can’t make it, just can’t make it

You all go head without me.

Moses pulled out her revolver and she quietly said:

Move or die.

You ain’t stoppin now

You can’t stop now

You gonna move

Move or die.

If you won’t go on

Gonna risk us all

Ahma send your soul to glory, I said move!

Long time now, I got it figgured out

Ev’ry Child a God got a double right. death

or liberty, Move now

or you will die.

Listen to me

Way back yonder

down in bondage

on my knee

Th’ moment He gave his promise

I was free.

(Walk, children!)

He said that when destruction rages

he is a rock

Rock of Ages

Declared that when the tempest ride

He just come mosey

straight

to my side.

(Don’t you get weary!)

Promised me the desprit hour

be the signal for His power

Hounddogs closing on the track

Sunlight

and the thunderclap!

(How you get weary?)

Bloodhound quickenin on the scent

Over my head, yesss

the heavens rent!

O He’s a father he is a mother

A sister He will

be your brother

Supplies the harvest, He raises up the grain

O don’t you feel—it’s fallin now

the blessed rain.

Don’t make no difference if you weary

Don’t mean a hoot owl if you scaird

He was with us in the six troubles

He won’t desert you in the seventh.

Get on up now

That’s it, no need a gettin weary

There is a glory there!

There be a great rejoicin

no more sorrow

shout ‘n nevvuh tire

a great camp meetin

in that land.

By fire in heaven she was guided

saved by stream

and by water reed

by her terrible grimace of faith

beautiful and defiant,

Till the moment in the long journey

came the first faint glimpse

of the stars, the everlasting stars shining clear

over the free

cold

land.