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Jazz Men (For Jack McCray)
In this Holy City Charleston,
we pour libations & drink
pure shine from a flask fetched deep
from the bosom of
Black joy
In speakeasy spirit houses
we toe tap on creaking wood floors
to pizzicato double bass strings,
gather in parlors of Remembrance
to bear witness to
trickster spirits trance dancing
on the faces of
Jazz men
holding us in an endless embrace.
Holding us.
Genealogy
jazz menEvery step we take is storied¬¬—
Thresholds we cross disturb our dreams
with sacred scripture & preordained callings,
with remembrances we could
never have known
In our wake,
a flakey clay crust adheres
to the backs of our heels,
evidence of low-tide boggin’ &
sleepwalks across the floors
of salt marshes
Just over yonder…
hidden in plain view,
our ancestors sleep deep behind the woods
~close to the water~
where our sanctified steps
lead us toward a cacophony
of names we are hearing
for the first time.
-Portia Cobb
Published in Ukweli: Searching for Healing Truth. An Anthology of South Carolina Writers and poets exploring American Racism, 2022 Evening Post Books.