Black History - Anthony Joseph

[06:42.0]One turntable was all DJ Champ had
[06:42.0]The fade was to wait
[06:42.0]Two big speaker box for the boom
[06:42.0]Two tweeters
[06:42.0]Hung like bees on wire above the front door
[06:42.0]Sacred hearted Jesus
[06:42.0]Mister Clarence dancing to Lord Nelson's 'Night Train' — the only glimpse we ever stole of him
[06:42.0]In this motion
[06:42.0]With his head up and easy
[06:42.0]Holding out his glass of Whiteways of Whimple
[06:42.0]To the side, so it don't spill when he slide
[06:42.0]And spin on his heel
[06:42.0]And there were full women in the kitchen
[06:42.0]Smoking filterless Broadways and drinking Scotch straight
[06:42.0]Tanty Ursula was young then, among them
[06:42.0]Strong and long before her stroke
[06:42.0]She had plenty verve
[06:42.0]Ursula would stand unsolicited
[06:42.0]And sing out with her tremulous voice
[06:42.0]Sing, 'My Way' or 'Misty'
[06:42.0]Wavering between keys but upwards she drove
[06:42.0]Into the wild arc
[06:42.0]Of her highest note
[06:42.0]Black History
[06:42.0]Black History
[06:42.0]Black History
[06:42.0]Black History
[06:42.0]Now, her aunt Zeen had been in Boston since 1972
[06:42.0]And Zeen's blood was close to her skin
[06:42.0]She would throw her head back an' laugh
[06:42.0]Blow smoke and cuss hard, she could break
[06:42.0]A young man's carapace
[06:42.0]She could drink hard rum and linger long
[06:42.0]After grog had beat up the competition
[06:42.0]She drank men silly
[06:42.0]Till they floated up and sighed
[06:42.0]Zeen would fry chicken by the bucket
[06:42.0]She would curry a cast of river crabs
[06:42.0]Soup up some bull foot soup
[06:42.0]Fridays on Dorchester Avenue
[06:42.0]Sons would bring their wives
[06:42.0]From New England
[06:42.0]Yankee life. Varsity sweaters
[06:42.0]Plastic shoes and cheap perfume
[06:42.0]Black History
[06:42.0]Zeen in Boston working as a nurse
[06:42.0]At night she working for the sanitation department
[06:42.0]But when she threw a party, she would hire a DJ
[06:42.0]An' when music leggo — bram
[06:42.0]She would pull people up to dance
[06:42.0]Black History
[06:42.0]Black History
[06:42.0]Black History
[06:42.0]Black History
[06:42.0]Writing on the same letter Nita sent
[06:42.0]And that wranglement didn't ease
[06:42.0]Until age and diabetes start to creep
[06:42.0]Into their lives
[06:42.0]Black History
[06:42.0]Black History
[06:42.0]Now, their mother
[06:42.0]Ma, Nobelta Lezama
[06:42.0]My great grand mother
[06:42.0]She lived to be at 102
[06:42.0]After outliving two husbands
[06:42.0]After giving birth to eight children
[06:42.0]And walking eight miles from hillside to town
[06:42.0]To sell mangoes in Central Market
[06:42.0]She could slap harsh cards down
[06:42.0]In late night gambling games
[06:42.0]She drank her coffee black and strong
[06:42.0]Ma Nobelta's mother
[06:42.0]Was Ma Marie, born of Black Africa — historical mystery
[06:42.0]That must have been sometime in the 1860s
[06:42.0]This was near after slavery
[06:42.0]And the village gave her their secrets
[06:42.0]For safekeeping, to be unravelled through generations
[06:42.0]And generations, and generations
[06:42.0]Of Black history
[06:42.0]And do this all
[06:42.0]Without Western belief in the afterlife
[06:42.0]But from the root set in sweet mud
[06:42.0]Ma Nobelta's mother
[06:42.0]Was Ma Marie, born of Black Africa — historical mystery
[06:42.0]That must have been sometime in the 1860s
[06:42.0]This was near after slavery
[06:42.0]And the village gave her their secrets
[06:42.0]For safekeeping, to be unravelled through generations
[06:42.0]Of Black history