Black Talk by Donnie Moreland
Black blood shimmers gold. And black blood, in still water, is a private wake, silhouetted.
The nectar, in the yoke of his lips,
like the odor of the first mother.
Her sweat, as she prayed in the belly of The Congo.
The waters of Jah, her contribution for the war effort.
A chieftains bucket is never weighted to hold even a drop,
so she carried what she could
beneath her tongue,
across creation, so that he may, in our sound, bless
Confidences in a spoiled grin.
Or talk, for short.
Nobody knows my name
sticks hard beneath the boots of burgundy, gin soaked undertakers,
but most strongly does it glue to the teeth of N.W.A’s daydreaming about
clean toilet water, after processing.
Is priced only if the fields are bare.
Black blood is tired blood.
black blood whenever spilled,
patterns a map of the maroons whose bones,
trace a sword along the badlands.
Black blood is what washes the red from the bonds, unveiling an erotic blue.
Black blood shimmers gold.
And black blood, in still water, is a private wake, silhouetted.
Black blood is a dark matter.
Alas, this scripture is never written primarily in ink.
Donnie Denkins Moreland Jr is a Minnesota based youth violence prevention educator and writer. Donnie holds a Master’s Degree, in Film Studies, from National University and a Bachelor’s Degree, in Sociology, from Prairie View A&M University. Donnie has contributed to Black Youth Project, A Gathering of the Tribes and Sage Group Publishing.