Not Forgotten…Don’t Forget
By Terri Allen Copyright 2002


Don’t forget,
the pedestals
on which Egyptian royals stood,
Ruling kingdoms,
commanding legions,
with wisdom
dripping on dried papyrus,
and pyramids
calling to the sun.
Don’t forget.

Don’t forget,
Wretched bodies
of those held in hulls
of creaking ships,
laddened with blemished beings,
On journeys to hell,
while dancing clouds on decks
laughed in the sky,
knowing the journey to the pit
had just begun.
Don’t forget.

Don’t forget,
That regal attire
worn by black popes,
With crucifixes
adorning necks
of unbroken,
Untattered,
and intact bones,
Never to know
the reeking depth and
the strange mangled fruit,
hung from southern poplar trees.
Don’t forget.

Don’t forget
those Harlem boulevards,
Where Malcolm fed
hungry minds,
Ha sa la ma lakim,
Make em, make em, make em
wake up to self-pride and determination.
And where Marcus
rode on streets
lined with people,
Inspired to go home to Africa,
the motherland,
Sankofa…
returning to the past to know the future.
And where Martin
preached to hearts,
yearning to be filled
with,
Free at last Inspiration,
Aspiration,
Anticipation,
and
Integration.
Don’t forget.

Don’t forget
The resilience
of the
worn
washerwomen,
Who lifted
her basket of daily toil
with
dry
beaten
hands,
and constant reminders
of filth
and stench
that she
tolerated of others,
while her baby jiggled on her hip.
Don’t forget.

And Emmett,
Emmett Till,
‘til his rotting body was found,
suspecting neighbors knew
the unequivocable reality
of a death,
that would never
see justice.
Don’t forget.

And don’t forget those children,
Whose determination
and
ingenuity,
Offered up like the scent
of sacred incense,
Wanting the knowledge
in closed books,
Alphabets of
promising futures,
Prose of
stories yet to be heard,
and
Smelling the aroma of
dreams to be filled.
Don’t forget.

Don’t forget,
The highways of
men
and women
desiring each other,
entangled in
true
unblemished love,
deep,
and strong,
and long,
only to find,
unchartered roads
of
dusky brooms
in unrecognized validity,
of their wanted wedding vows.
Don’t forget.

Not forgotten,
are those folded manumission papers
of
freed
black
men,
whose only link to survival was,
lowered eyes,
And
shufflin’ feet,
Hunched back,
And
castrated hearts
bleeding with the knowledge,
that their
Daughters,
their babies,
their wives,
their sisters,
their mothers,
Were to be used like
raw meat
hanging from a butcher’s cleaver.
Don’t forget.



But don’t forget,
my brothers and sisters
That we,
That I,
That you,
Are the
survivors
Of those ladened vessels,
Full of darkened bodies,
and chains,
And blood,
and death,
And despair,
Destined to voyages beyond their control.



Look around,
My brothers and sisters,
At you,
At me,
Don’t forget,
We are the survivors,
Of those on pedestals,
And in regal attire,
With crucifixes hanging from necks,
praying salvation for souls yet to be saved.

We are the
survivors
of those who stood
on Harlem boulevards
with,
Hungry minds,
and
yearning hearts,
And wanting to go home,
But knowing the elusive ports-of-call still wait.

Don’t forget,
My brothers and sisters,
Look around you,
At me,
At you,
We are the
survivors,
With resilience,
And undone justice,
And books still unread.

Don’t forget,
We are the survivors,
Look around,
At me,
At you,
We walk these highways,
With love.
Our papers are rich with
Power.
And strong,
working hands,
are capable of washing
many ills.
And our shuffling’ feet,
That shuffle no more,
But are now
sure
and
steadfast,
walking miles,
That have been,
unwalked,
unnavigated,
unchartered,
unexpected,
and unfettered.

Look around you,
My brothers and sisters,
Don’t’ forget
For who they were,
We are,
not forgotten.

Enjoy poetry samples from her books, published by Thelemaque Associates, "Share My World" and "Pieces of a Dream". Her upcoming poetry collection, "Hey, Waddaya Say", due to be released in 2003, will offer words including wimsical looks at relationships and deep spiritual messages.