it's been awhile, i know... this is more or less one big rant (it's really long) & it hasn't been revised yet. -----------------------------------------------------------
"indeed, some of the bluegrass is black." --Frank X. Walker
I.
i've heard it said that ky cain't raise no poets but we prove them wrong with each breath we take for the first time
we never had to learn to walk. like cats we landed on our feet fresh from the womb 'cause every second spent crawling is one second closer to second place & though we've been given a second class status we still set our sights past the stratusphere we've proven that we can by-pass the bleakest atmosphere we're speaking we're laughing we do exist it's not our fault that you can't hear us living
my old ky home is a minstrel stage that has the world thinkin we ain't worth minimum wage 'cause i mean, it's just ky-- don't they still have slaves?
let the church say 'hell naw.'
we've murdered our pickaninnies. we done put massa in de col' col' groun'* before he even knew he was dead now we fight to bear aunt jemima's breasts & give uncle ben his balls back while tryin' to shake our own skins loose of that old ky stigma we still get pissed at good ol' boys whistlin' dixie & rebel flags become a disturbing comfort 'cause when you see them waving in the dawn's early light then you know that those so proudly hailing are against you
maybe are cries are too legit 'cause all we get in return from our refined northern counterparts is--
"it's ky- what else would you expect?"
now we understand that our drawls may color us slow as molasses but our intelligence runs thick as honey we are well aware of the space in which we breathe because we created it without apology to expect is one thing to accept & respect is quite another we can move mountains but this is one ocean we refuse to swallow
mason-dixon boundaries awareness, not tolerance.
II.
i've never seen blue grass before but i can tell you where ky's blk roses grow wild--
we exist between kerosene lamps & liquor stores tucked away soft between blk churches lake cumberland & welfare offices picture us shining blk springs of isolated humanity young doctors/flunkies/pilots/junkies kickballing our way to adulthood way too soon picture us flying weaving our way through onyx mountains thrusted toward the periwinkle heaven that hangs low over our Bloody backyards & mall parking lots we are more than tobacco we are more than colonel sanders we are more than daniel boone, davey crockett the hatfields & the mccoys we are the muhammed alis whitney youngs frank x. walkers & their mothers/sisters/aunts/backbones/best friends/ inspirations we spit this land from our loins like tobacco juice into the United Spitoon of America & we govern it with a clenched iron fistfull of daisies & dance in streets paved in gold(enrod) lined in crackpipes broken beer bottles & bullet casings cow-tippin' is never a pass-time cause we spend too much time dodging police batons & blue bandanas we had to sacrifice footraces in crab grass for broken glass & trade childhood for simple survival take away the pigtails buck teeth slurred foreign speech lilly white skin sky blue eyes massa's whip blk submission & you have us modified images of malcolm & martin practicing shadows of langston & lorraine unborn revisions of Zion & Mecca & if you'd just listen to us we'll show you how to create space without apology
there's metaphor in them there mountains & though we may not know it some of us are poets.
*reference to a minstrel song entitled 'Massa's in De Col' Col' Ground'