Early Morning, Wednesday, October 1, 1919: Lonnie and Other White Men From McGehee Board A Missouri Pacific Railroad Train Bound For Elaine And The Killing Fields To Quell “The Black Insurrection.”
We have our rifles, pistols, and bullets,
But do we have enough anger? That’s
What I’ll ask myself. We didn’t start
This war nor did we choose it, black
Demons all. We can’t take our eyes off
Of the lot, trying to break loose. Why
Can’t they learn this world? God meant
It to be our way, or it just couldn’t be:
Blacks, merely a white man’s shadow.
Year after year, the same challenge, no
Less. We hold our guns and threats at
The ready, and our will sharpened like
Fine blades. With time passing, we grip
In place, unalterable, constant, as the land
Reaches back always to the sameness
That is known and to be known from
One generation to the next, not to be
Undone, certainty in unsure seasons.
Children cannot supplant the father, a
Truism that never quite gets its due
Respect, but through a rising storm or
By rope or scalded iron. The dreams
Of the obscure, the visions of unfree
Men – they fade under the first glow
Of sunrise, returning only in the dark
Persuasion of the untrue; but we, in
Form and fate, make such dreams trite.