Henry Dumas

Up from Msippi I grew. (Bare walk and cane stalk make a hungry belly talk.) Up from the river of death. (Walk bare and stalk cane make a hungry belly talk.) Up from Msippi I grew. Up from the river of pain. Out of the long red earth dipping, rising, spreading out in deltas and plains, out of the strong black earth turning over by the iron plough, out of the swamp green earth dripping with moss and snakes, out of the loins of the leveed lands muscling its American vein: the great Father of Waters, I grew up, beside the prickly boll of white, beside the bone-filled Mississippi rolling on and on, breaking over, cutting off, ignoring my bleeding fingers. Bare stalk and sun walk I hear a boll-weevil talk cause I grew up beside the ox and the bow, beside the rock church and the shack row, beside the fox and the crow, beside the melons and maize, beside the hound dog, beside the pink hog, flea-hunting, mud-grunting, cat-fishing, dog pissing in the Mississippi rolling on and on, ignoring the colored coat I spun of cotton fibers. Cane-sweat river-boat nigger-bone floating. Up from Msippi I grew, wailing a song with every strain. Woman gone woe man too baby cry rent-pause daddy flew.

Vodu green clinching his waist, obi purple ringing his neck, Shango, God of the spirits, whispering in his ear, thunderlight stabbing the island of blood rising from his skull. Mojo bone in his fist strikes the sun from his eye. Iron claw makes his wrist. He recalls the rites of strength carved upon his chest. Black flame, like tongues of glass, ripples beneath a river of sweat. Strike the island! Strike the sun! Strike the eye of evil! Strike the guilty one! No power can stay the mojo when the obi is purple and the vodu is green and Shango is whispering, Bathe me in blood. I am not clean.

Beloved, I have to adore the earth: The wind must have heard your voice once. It echoes and sings like you. The soil must have tasted you once. It is laden with your scent. The trees honor you in gold and blush when you pass. I know why the north country is frozen. It has been trying to preserve your memory. I know why the desert burns with fever. It was wept too long without you. On hands and knees, the ocean begs up the beach, and falls at your feet. I have to adore the mirror of the earth. You have taught her well how to be beautiful.

for Jay Wright my ole man took me to the fulton fish market we walk around in the guts and the scales my ole man show me a dead fish, eyes like throat spit he say “you hongry boy?” i say “naw, not yet” my ole man show me how to pick the leavings he say people throw away fish that not rotten we scaling on our knees back uptown on lenox sold five fish, keepin one for the pot my ole man copped a bottle of wine he say, “boy, build me a fire out in the lot” backyard cat climbin up my leg for fish i make a fire in the ash can my ole man come when he smell fish frank williams is with him, they got wine my ole man say “the boy cotch the big one” he tell big lie and slap me on the head i give the guts to the cat and take me some wine we walk around the sparks like we in hell my ole man is laughin and coughin up wine he say “you hongry boy” i say “naw, not yet” next time i go to fulton fish market first thing i do is take a long drink of wine

lay sixteen bales down in front on the plank let me set and bay at the houndog moon lay sixteen bales down of the cotton flank pray with me brothers that the pink boss dont sweat me too soon beat my leg in a round nigger peg lord have mercy on my black pole lay sixteen bales in the even row let me sweat and cuss my roustabout tune lord have mercy on my shrinkin back let me go with the jesus mule lay sixteen bales for the warp and loom beat a nigger down and bury his soul boss dont sweat me too soon pray with me brothers that I hold my cool lord have mercy on this long black leg let me ride on the jesus mule lay sixteen bales of white fuzz down lay sixteen tales of how I got around lord have mercy on this sweat and stink lord have mercy lay sixteen bales pray brothers beat down lord have let me lord lord brothers the houndog moon howl jesus, howl!

First there was the earth in my mouth. It was there like a running stream, the July fever sweating the delirium of August, and the green buckling under the sun. The taste of sick dust ran in the currents of saliva which I heaved up and tried to picture when all the people would curse their own stinking guts and die. No. I am not wishing that everyone should die. Nor am I wishing that everyone should be still. Only I am squeezing out the steam in me.

Take up the blood from the grass, sun. Take it up. These people do not thirst for it. Take up the insect children that play in the grass, sun. Take them away. These people are sick of them. Take down the long slender reeds, sun. Cut them down. These people cannot make flutes any longer. Now sun, come closer to the earth! Even closer than that. Closer. Now, sun. Take away the shape from the metal, sun. They are like stone, these people. Now make them lava.