Lucy Cortell
By Zainab Floyd
Hair course
Skin dark
Hands callous
The silence is haunting
The narratives are rigged
These walkways have a certain sway
Delayed
The hymns of slavery
The screams of rotting Black bodies
Swooshing
Black bodies without souls are dragged out onto the court yard
Perhaps their souls have run free beyond our imagination
These black sparkling streets
These parks on Washington Square
You can feel and smell it in the air
Black bodies swayed
Swooshing
Black Bodies hang on northern trees with the traveling winds of southern breeze
Swooshing
The past is reeling
The past is reeling
The past is here
The past is present
The past is breathing
The past is heavily alive