Deep Wilmington South, NC 2008


                          Deep Wilmington South, N.C. 2006

                                                                         By Linda Kendall-Hagan

 

Northerners think the Civil War is over

Inside each Wilmington historical house, it’s 2008.

Outside the sauna thumps you into the 1930′s.

Hurricane snakes slither in hearts pumping ignorance in Wilmington

Termite ridden foundations of grandfathers’ mansions built when slaves’

Magnificent ebony free fingers

Woodworked elegant pillars and high balconies

Black skin taut over muscles enslaved in white fetters

 

Once slaves escaped to Wilmington to become freemen

Owned the bakery, the Wilmington Journal, the tannery too

Black lawyers walked Front Street by the river

Black families bought the mansions their granddaddies built

But Red Shirts couldn’t let that happen  

Slaughter took the Wilmington black middle class

Sent the gentle women and children to hide in the swamps

And the men packing to the bottom of the Cape Fear River

Where their skeletons still wave from the cedar logs on the bottom

 

Wealthy good old boys and slave descendants

Live together in Wilmington

South of 7th St. good old boys eat off silver trays

North of 7th, black "boys" eat off broken dishes

No black boys wait on tables along the river.

It’s not allowed.

 

Racism is so deep here

No one knows what it is.

Michael Jordan worked at Whitey’s washing dishes,

So he could escape to fame but

Most "boys" still do heavy work. 

 

 

In the forties, owner’s son and black field hand

Played tag in the cotton fields

Pushing each other down

Rollin’ in the dirt ditches body-over-body

Laughing muscle butt-to-butt, side-by-side,

Their sweaty hands dripping together in the bag

of white tufted fibrous balls still seedful.

They look far over the seeming hair-roller laden plants

Gaze at the old as-old-as-they-are vulture, King George, watching for a tender gecko

In the black water swamp that steams like an cleaner’s  press

Heating their seeming young friendship forever

hearts beating together

Not knowing or thinking then white men

steam away the black dreams.

 

 

Now running the local college, the owner’s son, related to Robert E. Lee

Wears his crisp white shirt and clean Wright brothers sky-blue tie

And lives on all-white Wrightsville Beach

 Meetings with the board, raising money to tear down 86 year-old black Miss Margaret’s house standing in the way of the new Engineering building.

He hides his sheet in his office closet;

Pleads to a private campus visitor, "How are we supposed to educate these people?"

Like Thurman, this President never learned Vernon Jordan could read.

 

The same black boy who rolled body-over-body with this President works all over town.

Yesterday, he was the boy who mudded the walls in Webster’s hundred-year-old dump on 6th street just to get some lunch and dinner.

Today, he lifts granite cornerstones into a wheel barrel as the sweat rolls down his dark bronze arms like water bugs scurrying under the sink.   " So’s I kin break ‘em up with that sledge hammer and make small garden stones for boss Judy."

Tomorrow, no work…so he begs knocking at back doors with a story about needing money for his diabetes medicine.

 

Creeping fear here tar heel sluggish as deep brown honey.

When the crackers turned their backs, Jim whispered,

"They will hurt you if you try to help us. Crosses still burn here.

Klansmen, six men in a car, still beat black boys

This tar will seep deep in your soul; stick real thick to your heels;

It still suffocates the freedom we thought was already won."

Silent running tears running through my thoughts

Howling Obama

Obama

Obama

 

 

 

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