Righteous Sunday
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Colored pencil art G.Gaul
This is a factual (and partially fictionalized) depiction of one lynching/killing of Mary Turner, a black woman and her unborn baby, in Georgia in 1918. The recently opened National Memorial for Peace and Justice Museum in Montgomery Alabama chronicles approximately 4,000 lynchings of blacks that took place in Jim Crow South (reconstruction South) from circa 1870 to 1968. Including over a hundred lynchings of black women and children. This is an indication of how deep the "systemic racism" is here in America. The horrific, actual killing account is accurate (as brutal as it is) as reported in the newspaper. Early 1800s Black Anti Slavery Activist Nat Turner was an ancestor of Mary Turner. The Mary Turner Project (MTP), a diverse group of advocates, educators and descendants of Mary Turner, has approved the publishing of this poem. 475 word.
Poem of the day notes: As an advocacy poem, this poem has elicited numerous responses from readers on several sites that I am on other than Poetrysoup (Allpoetry, Poemhunter). These responses run the gamut from weeping in regret, to sudden calls to action, to one reader who had to revisit her psychiatrist. This makes me feel that this piece has the power to make a difference. It's surprising how few readers are aware of this horrific situation that existed in Jim Crow South. And with that I can make a contribution through my poetry to make people more aware of systemic racism and become active at fighting against it. Either by joining action groups or simply through their vote. So when this poem draws responses, wins contests, or is featured on sites like this one, it rekindles my faith that people do care. We can be a more compassionate society and quell the hate of discrimination against all people.
Bands of sunlight
Streamed through the curtains
Woke up to a glorious spring day
In Lowndes County Georgia 1918
Little Sara and Clint jumped in our bed
For morning hugs around
A day to remember
Filled with love, legacy
Our people
Slipped on my Sunday shirt
All crisp 'n fresh, scent of spring
Still warm from Sidney's hot iron
I went to our closet shelf
My prized straw hat perched there
Closed my eyes, ran my fingertips
Over the rim's stepped ridges
Light yellow straw, black satin band
My precious lid
Reverend Shackelford greeted us
In the vestibule where we talked
About the day's big event afterwards
Following his inspiring Christian sermon
In procession, we assembled in the square
To watch
They brought her out
The crowd gasped
She wore a tattered house dress
Bound tight and gagged
She couldn't spout her venom
Devil that she was
We already got her husband
And now we're takin' her
No matter the child she carries
All the better
They hoisted her on the platform
Tied her feet, stripped her
The crowd exploded with applause
Cheers, jeers, giant growls
Then strung her upside down
Sidney looked at me
With that knowing smile
The kids hadn't never seen
Anyone naked before
Let alone a ***** lashed in place
In front a y'all
Doused her with gas 'n oil
Some splashed onlookers
As they backed away
I looked at Sidney again
She knew what I was thinkin'
That smart aleck New York Easterner
The feed merchant, came to our farm
Spewing his rant 'bout how we
Oughta treat ******* as equals
We argued, almost fought
Sidney knew I wanted ta show 'em
Show the world in the name of Christ
That we are right
I was proud to show the kids
As they lit her squirmin' body
She screamed her muffled evil screams
Like the animal that she was
Till she fell silent, burnt
Deformed into a curled
Grotesque
Tommy Lee jumped on stage with
His Bowie knife and sliced, gutting her
And her boiled baby tumbled out
With a "little cry", limp
Others leaped up and stomped it dead
Then sprayed bullets into her
Gun smoke and smell of charred flesh
Floating over everyone
Some put up handkerchiefs
Many turned away
A canopy of straw hats
Covered our town's square
On the wooden gallows stage
A contorted blackened form alone
Hangin' centered there
We turned slowly, kids clinging
Crowds quieting, half-hanging heap
Still smokin'
Reverend Shackelford shook his head
In approval as he passed by
Silently we rode home, Sara wept a bit
Children can't understand
'Cept ta know
It was epic
We explained that she was a devil
Her husband and unborn too
We needed to do it for their protection
That night, we tucked them in
With prayers and kisses
We were proud of
What we done
Copyright © Greg Gaul | Year Posted 2018
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