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FREEDOMWAYS                SECOND QUARTER 1973

Jungle colors,
Fluted and starred
Blossom at night
Without regard
For the dying blight
Long overgrown
Of rotting log
And crumbling stone.

As a ghetto child
He blossomed and grew
Without regard
For the blight he knew
That hatred is black
And fear is white, 
But death flowered redly
One awful night.

Edward S. Spriggs begins his poem "For Brother Malcolm" with these lines: "there is no memorial site/in harlem/save the one we are building/in the street of/our young minds." Anthologies of this type help keep alive the memories of those who made significant contributions to the history of black people in the world today. Poems are memorials of a kind--as illustrated in this poignant expression of loss by Julia Fields:

FOR MALCOLM X

His eyes were mirrors of our agony. 
They are closed.
His lips were testaments of our hunger.
They are closed.
His ears were circuits of our cries.
They are closed.
His hands were petitioners against our bondage.
They are closed.
When shall such another
Pierce and sting this land?

Patricia Gow

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Transcription Notes:
---------- Reopened for Editing 2024-02-21 18:44:15