Little Black bird perched on my windowsill, spread your wings and fly. Fly while the sun is still high in the sky, while the breeze is still cool, while the police sirens are still far off. The South was never safe. The North, less overt in its hate, will still lock you in a cage. Fly East, little Black bird, over the North-Atlantic current, which brought your mothers and fathers in ships like cargo, back to the land from which you were uprooted, back to the land where God originally planted you by the tree of life and said, "Of this you may freely eat." Land flowing with milk and honey, where there is not slave or free, Jew or Gentile, Black or White. Fly home, little Black bird, and when you find God there, ask Him to grant us our wings.
© 2023 Nortina Simmons
Welcome to Day 6 of Black Poetry Writing Month (aka BlaPoWriMo)! BlaPoWriMo is a month-long challenge to write a poem every day during the month of February (Black History Month) related to Black history, Black people, or the Black experience.
Today’s optional prompt is: Write a poem to escape.