Scan barcode
pattydsf's review
4.0
on masks
i find it hard to breathe
inside a mask
my face immediately
begins to sweat
my nose to itch
my cheeks to chafe
yet how beautiful
they are who wear masks well
revealing a hidden essence
under the guise of artifice
how beautiful they are
who become the mask
awaken an ancient song
and help its spirit dance
but as for me
I keep my mask inside
eyes closed
sealing the mouth
of my heart
I bought this book of poetry back when I visited San Francisco for the first time. I visited City Lights and thought I should have a souvenir from that visit. Of course, possession is almost as good as reading, so I just got around to reading Major’s amazing poems.
Here we are, not traveling, needing masks while we social distance. I am sure Major was not thinking of just real masks, but the poem is so appropriate. I am grateful I found it now.
This has been a year of discovering more about my racism. I joined an antiracist book group and it has been enlightening and hard. Once again, I am thankful for Major’s way with words. I might not have found this poem so powerful if I had read it a few years ago.
Who knows if I will ever get to San Francisco again. At least I have a piece of its world on my poetry shelves.
august has always been black for us
we are born every month
in every month we die
each month has some triumphs
and each carries its own defeats
but august
august has always been black for us
black august since those first twenty
landed in 1619 jamestown
and felt its wet hungry
lash cut their sturdy backs
as they discovered how deepl
shackles could cleave
that first twenty
of millions who would
drown or slave
and did not know
how many centuries
spirit, flesh, and soul
would stay bound
by the scars
from that august arrival
we remember nat turner
and hold onto george jackson
we do not forget his brother jonathan
and the others who fell and fall
warriors reaching for freedom
a MOVE house flooded
burned and crushed
that philadelphia august day
and august night when watts exploded
black reflecting on a fire sky
we’ve known this month
for nearly four hundred years
we know this august
this august that has
always been
black
for us
i find it hard to breathe
inside a mask
my face immediately
begins to sweat
my nose to itch
my cheeks to chafe
yet how beautiful
they are who wear masks well
revealing a hidden essence
under the guise of artifice
how beautiful they are
who become the mask
awaken an ancient song
and help its spirit dance
but as for me
I keep my mask inside
eyes closed
sealing the mouth
of my heart
I bought this book of poetry back when I visited San Francisco for the first time. I visited City Lights and thought I should have a souvenir from that visit. Of course, possession is almost as good as reading, so I just got around to reading Major’s amazing poems.
Here we are, not traveling, needing masks while we social distance. I am sure Major was not thinking of just real masks, but the poem is so appropriate. I am grateful I found it now.
This has been a year of discovering more about my racism. I joined an antiracist book group and it has been enlightening and hard. Once again, I am thankful for Major’s way with words. I might not have found this poem so powerful if I had read it a few years ago.
Who knows if I will ever get to San Francisco again. At least I have a piece of its world on my poetry shelves.
august has always been black for us
we are born every month
in every month we die
each month has some triumphs
and each carries its own defeats
but august
august has always been black for us
black august since those first twenty
landed in 1619 jamestown
and felt its wet hungry
lash cut their sturdy backs
as they discovered how deepl
shackles could cleave
that first twenty
of millions who would
drown or slave
and did not know
how many centuries
spirit, flesh, and soul
would stay bound
by the scars
from that august arrival
we remember nat turner
and hold onto george jackson
we do not forget his brother jonathan
and the others who fell and fall
warriors reaching for freedom
a MOVE house flooded
burned and crushed
that philadelphia august day
and august night when watts exploded
black reflecting on a fire sky
we’ve known this month
for nearly four hundred years
we know this august
this august that has
always been
black
for us
More...