At 4:50 we carried the
drums to the front of the house
We lined the congas like armor
Sat tall and proud behind them our
palms messaging to the cow skin heads
The piercing pops and slaps the
heated hymns of our revolution
It felt as if our ancestors willed the beats themselves
By 5:15 the rain came
we stopped our rhythms ran the drums
inside so that they wouldn’t be
doomed to ruin like the rest of us
We joined the others kneeled curbside in the
pouring rain every neighbor at the tips of their
lawns yelling to the passing cars pumping their fists
pumping their signs in the air high as if
they thought God could read them from 16th Street
and the church bells were supposed to ring at 5:45
in solidarity but they didn’t
and we didn’t much care for long
America was still going to hear our songs
our cries we shook bells and punched the sky again
and again because our lives depended on it
Header photograph © Nick Norris.
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