Another style of poetry called ekphrastic poetry is a poem that deeply describes an event or piece of art. I wrote this one in reflection of 3 of the panels (featured below) Jacob Lawrence Migration Series that we studied at the Museum of Modern Art in NYC. Here goes it.
Beads of sweat roll down this long shapeless black body like the train that brought him here to be
This hammer
nearly his size
Heaved
over his head behind his neck
threatened
As if it could pound backwards to claim its operator
Hands grip to this wood
My life
depends on it
Face aimed at a nail
Too large to be real
Even it
is black
big, crooked, sideways
Mama “what is Daddy building?”
She looks onto her candy corn meal
slicing
slouching
slumping over like the shape of Daddy’s spine
Momma got a knife
Daddy got a hammer
My near naked body is nothing but a symbol of youthful vulnerability
hunger
white
pure
innocent
Momma, “I am hungry”
She, worn more than the very garment she’s in
Garments folded in this suitcase
Along with 8 others
I ain’t know they had bags big enough to hold
Big Momma’s
Things
We packed at 5 am to beat the beat
to the beat, we sneak to the train
The sun just looking over this Mississippi plain
As we load our luggage
“hella luggage, all of a sudden?”
Whose things are these, anyways?
These green backgrounds juxtaposed our
black bodies
up against
this brown house
floor window
next to this coral dress
above my white skivvies
sclera
Am I the only one who can see?
See?
c
o
l
o
r
Skinny patch, green grass
Gramma, we on our way up
North
4, 11, 39
Great migration, you have been a friend of the strangest kind
