Rose Woodson

Old Speak

I remember when
the messiahs came,
when their shell lips first opened   new
soft    sounds    shining
like pearls.  We hung
them then around our necks.
I remember when
the messiahs came,
turning, slowly, even as
the fruit turned in their shadow, turned, fell,
slowly singing sorrow.
I remember when
the messiahs came and
their tongueblades
slit the skin of our language,
leaving  our words wounded, leaving
us like sighs. Bleeding.  Slowly.
Our tree became their tree.
Slowly.
Our father became their father.
Slowly.
Our daughters became theirs.
I remember when
the messiahs slipped,
shadow on shadow,
through the sweating night, staring
at our bare dreams.
I remember when
the messiahs carved  out names for us
as though we were
stone, yet unnamed.  We then
walked  through the ashes
of our hearts,
our footsteps blowing away.
I remember
when the messiahs came.  It is the knot
I hang
us all on.

Rose Maria Woodson is a student in the MFA program at Northwestern University.  A Chicago writer, some of her other poems have appeared in wicked alice,  Paradigm Journal. com, African American Review, Ariel, The Lucid Stone  and The Green Hills Literary Lantern.