Freedom Summer

[important edit: i got my first reallyreal rejection letter in the mail today! and it said [in addition to the rejection part] "Thanks, Julie"!--handwritten even! and it was signed! wowiekazowie. !!!!! i am happy. okay. thats the end of that.]



[feel free to edit and such.]




Freedom Summer, 1964
[ for Coretta Scott King ]

Awaken in the morning and sing again, you that dwell in the dust;
sing of the train coming slowly and the opening of prisons.
A woman cries out from the pain of labor, then feeds the child at her breast.

Sing to each other of a banquet prepared, and vineyards of red wine,
the river Jordan, chariots and Jericho's walls, fields of white cotton.
While waiting for the noon bell, sing again, you that dwell in the dust.

She helps the master's wife dress for a ball in Atlanta; arrive in time
for them to dance all night, and waits until needed in the corner, forsaken.
She sits, and rests from her labor, and men take notice of her breasts.

Generations of the old songs echo through the cabin walls and forest pines.
Piles of threadbare suits need mending, sew the buttons
in the evenings, by the fire. In the night, sing again, you that dwell in the dust.

Somebody's son laid in the east field, dying,
now dead; others—while escaping—might be snared, caught and taken.
A mother labors in the fields, and fear settles deep into her breast.

Spring, with sweet flowers, and tall summer fields shall resign
themselves to autumn. Together, we will plant, and the ground will again be broken.
Wait for the coming train. Wait for the whistle to sing again, you that dwell in the dust.
Mothers and children have labored together; still, hope rises in their breasts.

Posted 2/21/2006 1:03 AM