BLACK BABY, WHITE BABY, THEY CRY……

Do you know who I am when I cry?

Can you tell the color of my skin by the sound of my tears?

Does my past tumble forward into my present formation.

Now you see me and are afraid to hold me for you do not understand my tears.

I scare you with my ancient scars; but I am a baby, a black baby crying.

Feed me, pick me up, change and comfort me. I need arms to enfold and encourage me.

Do you know who I am when I cry?

Can you tell the color of my skin by the sound of my tears?

Does my soft staccato whimperings draw your pity and you rush to cuddle me

Tenderly you rock me in your arms,

I am full but I needed to see your face,

Your black nanny face is a comfort to me, your full black bosom smells of milk and sweat

I feel your tenderness pouring into me as you miss feeding your own black baby

Your own black baby who cries for you day and night and gets itself into a rage for it is hungry and needs to be cuddled.

We cry differently, we cry in white and black, we cry for reasons, black reasons, and white reasons,

We cry in black and white tones.

Historically we cry, we cry our history.

 

Copyright. Lmh