(After “Move” by Lucille Clifton)

 

They were sifted like nuggets of gold
through the glittering gilded colonies of
French West Africa.

Their stomachs ached and groaned
in one echoing cacophony.

White and black bodies alike
trudged endless miles
beneath Black Forest canopy,
foliage uniforms camouflaged all
in unifying darkness.

Yet the Black men were deflating in
those uniforms
withering within them
for weeks.

Black soldiers witnessed,
their brown eyes were fed
the fullness of white riflemen’s stomachs
and pockets – how abundance
unfurled over
onto their own motherlands golden sands.

Wolof whispers, the mistake
leaked from tirailleurs
mouths.

Did you not know?
White and Black ears function
differently?
Black mouths utter justice
and white ears hear
mutiny.

Do not say dirty words like
Dignity.

Before daylight could break,
bullets, roiling thunder
shattered the glass of their sleep.
France’s shields could not defend themselves.

Today, France admits,
postures pompously on podiums every
December 1st anniversary that
Thirty-five
West African lives were lost that day.

Witnesses say three hundred bodies but–

Did you not know?
Blue and brown eyes
don’t work the same.
When gunfire and dust settled,
French soldiers hurled those
three-fifth black bodies
into unmarked mass graves.
They say the truth lies somewhere
in between.
We know the answer is between earth
and overflowing headstones.

Today
prayers of Surah Yasin sink
into soil that carefully envelops
unforgotten
sons, brothers, fathers.
Those ochre grounds now
an eternal camouflage and coffin.

They say closed mouths don’t get fed,
But be careful who you dare announce
your humanity around.

And you
with a little luck
won’t be fed
a spread of bullets.

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Victor Paixão on Unsplash