Sun Ra/Sandra Posadas
On the Black Arts Movement
Art is not entertainment…it’s a revolution. - Salman Rushdie
Black is Beautiful.
Black is…
Black is…
Black is magic.
Black is power.
Black is revolution.
Writing poems that kill.
Making rhythm of thoughts explode.
Words become sub sonic projectiles,
rising off floors,
into pages where
waves of careful speech
give voice to
the counter narrative
1974
The sepia brown polaroid
is a portal to another dimension
where life happened around me,
where life happened to me.
I stand near Mami,
smile frozen in compliance.
She clutches me close.
I am life preserver to
a family drowning in rum.
Papi stands next to her.
He is half smiling drunk.
Arms dangle independent
of his his body,
like sleeves on a clothesline.
Yolanda kneels near me
half woman, half child,
already planning her escape.
Silent observer,
I was object and subject
of this place where
secrets clung like
plastic furniture covers.
A broken family
held together by
the thread of dysfunction.
Spring Time In Chicago
From inside the door he squints at the sun.
His worshipping took place
during Saturday night’s barroom vigil;
sacred sacrament of J& B whisky,
Freddy Fender jukebox hymns,
and praise dancing in the back room
on pretty, snake movin’ hips.
Now it’s a Sunday morning stumble
down cracked and crooked streets,
holding his head so it doesn’t
float away into remorse