In Gwendolyn Brooks' Head

The heart knows who's in charge—
that conspicuous muscle tendering
its pulse like the lovenotes' lines
to a quiet woman. No detail is plain
or ordinary. Not the meter of blood
through vein or raucous voices flooding
each chamber, sentences weighed, words
arranged before sounding over the tongue.
A cell boat drifts on a river of blood,
gushing at its source, eternal & dark—
Don Lee declared it beautiful,
& so it swells, more alive. Fury
is not so sudden. It is the yellow jewel
of a curious bud, its once green head tilted
up, despite a lack of water. Black boys
& black girls, welcome. These
murals of flame are yours. Enter
your skin, your circumstance—not remote
& not unconcerned, it shall be written.

Copyright © 2003 Yona Harvey All rights reserved
from 5 AM
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission