A Poem for the first day of Black History Month.
by Steven Underwood
The Black Graymalkin is never free;
Though liberated in city it appears to be;
Its leash, like thread, vanish in the eye;
But still held in chains till feline die.
Onyx Graymalkin, your roar is low,
If you are to speak, who would know?
Dense Graymalkin, you are meek,
Though your pelt is velvet, sleek.
Observant Graymalkin, you lurk in shade,
You hide from the daylight that whiteness made.
Black Graymalkin, are you me?
How cruel a society do you flee?
From whose ebony Pride are you bred?
From what dark skin do you shed?
Toil, Graymalkin, they will fear;
No love for loved ones you hold dear.
This world is black, dark like pitch;
And from your trouble this land grow rich.
Flee, Graymalkin, don’t you stray;
The present is black because you’re black all day.