Pauli Murray

We are spendthrifts with words, We squander them, Toss them like pennies in the air– Arrogant words, Angry words, Cruel words, Comradely words, Shy words tiptoeing from mouth to ear. But the slowly wrought words of love and the thunderous words of heartbreak– Those we hoard.

Now you are strong And we are but grapes aching with ripeness. Crush us! Squeeze from us all the brave life Contained in these full skins. But ours is a subtle strength Potent with centuries of yearning, Of being kegged and shut away In dark forgotten places. We shall endure To steal your senses In that lonely twilight Of your winter’s grief.

Upon reading PM newspaper’s account of Mr. Roosevelt’s statement on the recent race clashes:“I share your feeling that the recent outbreaks of violence in widely spread parts of the country endanger our national unity and comfort our enemies. I am sure that every true American regrets this.” What’d you get, black boy, When they knocked you down in the gutter, And they kicked your teeth out, And they broke your skull with clubs And they bashed your stomach in? What’d you get when the police shot you in the back, And they chained you to the beds While they wiped the blood off? What’d you get when you cried out to the Top Man? When you called on the man next to God, so you thought, And asked him to speak out to save you? What’d the Top Man say, black boy? “Mr. Roosevelt regrets. . . . . . .”

Not by hammering the furious word, Nor bread stamped in the streets, Nor milk emptied in gutter, Shall we gain the gates of the city. But I am a prophet without eyes to see; I do not know how we shall gain the gates of the city. August, 1943