The Poplar Tree

The poplar tree,

The roots of the poplar tree are overflowing with history and theft

You see the poplar tree's roots are the most beautiful shade of brown

Because it's been painted with the stolen melanin of my ancestors

The poplar tree's roots are strong because of the strength they plundered from my people

The poplar tree's roots can bend and twist because of the resilience my forefathers showed it in their final moments

The poplar tree's roots are deeply intertwined with my own

They are so deeply connected that I feel

Them wrapping around my legs

     Coiling around my thighs

        Twisting around my hips

As if they were trying to keep me in place

Trying to keep me from escaping

Trying to stop me from going forward

So that they may take from me

It's roots crave my melanin

It wants to suck it out of me until

I'm cold to the touch and blue in the lips

It's roots lust after my resilience

Wanting to know where it comes from

It's roots want to absorb my strength

So that it may live forever

The poplar tree's roots are trying  to hold on to me

And suck the life out of me

The poplar tree's roots are trying to prepare me for its branches

The poplar tree's branches

Bear strange yet familiar fruit

You see when the fruit of the poplar tree ripens,

        It hangs from its branches

And it swings solemnly in the Southern breeze

Swinging from North to East to South and back again

My friend Amaru once told me about,

 the fruit that hangs from the poplar tree

He said, that the blacker the berry the sweeter the juice

But I told him no no no no no

That can't be true

Because if it was then the juice

Wouldn't be spilled all over the leaves

Or used to strengthen the roots

If it was true then why oh why

Is the sweeter juice not worth as much??

Maybe it's because that juice flows through my veins

Maybe it's because I am that berry

My blood is that juice

And they don't want something that's been so diluted with the truth

Which is why my great great great grandfather in 1882

Grew ripe has he hung from his noose

He swung..from north to East to south and back again

He swung

Then still many years later,

Emmett Till swung

And even now people are still swinging

But the poplar tree has changed

Now the roots have become the system

The branches are now guns with badges attached to them

But still we swing

Walter Scott still swings

Michael Brown still swings

Eric Garner still swings

Tracy Wade still swings

Tamar Rice still swings

Sandra Bland still swings

Amaru said that the blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice

When it should be

 the blacker the berry,

the tighter the noose