Painting by B. W. Harwell
No Conversation
To those seeking a ‘conversation’
I don’t want to talk
I am all talked out
The questions you ask
Asked and answered
My throat is dry red
I cannot talk
I am all talked out
I told it all
When Kennedy died
When Martin died
And all the lynchings
I talked of murder
I spoke of fear.
My throat is dry red.
I am all talked out
I can talk no more
I answered the questions
So long ago
When little boys came
To curse my boy
With language from home
Too young to know the fear
Of guns, hanging and drowning
But the boy becomes the man
One more man with a gun
Why are you here?
I told you why
Because I have a right!
What’s your problem?
I cannot talk with tears
I cannot speak with cracked lips
I must lay it down
I have spoken to the wind
This time no talk
I long for peace
Now
You take the time to teach
You move that crushing stone
You search the dead heart
You hold the bullet
You want the ballot
You own the gun
You change the laws
I am weary
I will not speak
I can act though tired
I will give voice
But no longer speak.
(Painting, From My Lips to God’s Ear, oil on canvas)
Narcissus, Hibiscus and Mandrake 