Looking, Yet Not Seeing

A mother of swirling black smoke bore you,
Bundled in burlap
Atop burning earth's dust bowl.

Before you…

A life of sweat tainted tobacco leaves and cotton bales
Shrouded in Panama hats of “Mas’er man’s” hate-filled acrid air.

While above...

Were only your father's cries of mercy,
Filling the grit dense clouds,
As Jim Crow rode the thunder,
Looking down to make more the same,
More swaddling to face a miscreant society.

Still…

Painfully,
Some of us
Considering history,
Peer skyward,
See the many blind eyes,
Instead of stars,
And remind ourselves
The past always sends forward its remains
To be a haunting presence,
Challenging us to see
Beyond merely looking,
What this country is still pitifully dealing with.