Category : Poems

Sub Category : N/A

I have No Field of Lilies 
Only Cotton Flowers that Bloom When I dance 
Nurtured and watered by By Bloody Fingers that drip from being pricked
Twirl Spin and Fly High 
Gravity is my Sky For I am unable to be Lifted 
I dance to Old Negro spirituals Sung By My Ancestors 
The Crickets and Ladybugs Applaud at every recital 
They Gave me My Title 
Ballerina Cotton Princess I be their Idle 
I am The Brown Swan Lake 
The Dancer they Love to Hate 
I have No Gates for they have abandoned me 
No One in this valley of Dry Bones to Protect me 
In the Cotton I land Softly
No Inspiration but from the S-O-N 
Shoo Bird Dont bother me while I'm Dancing for all the deceased Mammies and Pappies 
My Brother use to Beat a tuneful Bucket while playing his Mouth Organ 
Now Silence Has Begun Because he was Hung and he became Strange fruit ripe for the pickin
I still Hum his Tunes though, My Memory Stands Strong as a weepin willow swaying and waving at me in the wind
Branches hang Low Because she has no Soul 
Paint My Face White Like them Petty folks that sang without blues notes 
Shug Bring Yoself in Now 
Time Fo Dinner 
Did you Not here that Cock Crow
By Fay Ealy 2017 
Art By Margaret Bowland