For Joshua

We are crying the tears of nations,
Darnella and her white husband.
Men who took women,
and families to which
the setting sun
became the destination
of a generation.
Westward,
westward,
the ramblers flocked.

Westward,
westward,
where San Francisco and Los Angeles
are the drain catches,
festering with riches,
rotting in the glory,
dripping medicinal nectar
on the tongues of beggars.

Your boy, Darnella,
must learn the tongues,
must know his tribes,
and all.

Your boy, is our hope;
he is hope for young men like me,
just learning how wrong our fathers'
fathers' got it in translation.

Bring instead all the warblings,
all the dances,
all the dishes,
all the moonts,
and howies
of the clans,
of the child himself.

Bring them to him,
and in so doing,
bring them to us all.