strange fruit
in a dream -
Mississippi, the 50's
lone hike on a sweltry spring-tide day
rolling fields of cotton and wheat
cauliflower clouds like lazy old men
creeping across a buttery haze …
as I walk, I tickle the tops of the grasses
hands open, palms down
blessing them
like mischievous children …
strolling a rise
in no hurry but oddly compelled
ball cap and short sleeves
skin rosy from the midday shine -
naked, dazzling sun, yet …
an odd trepidation as I round the hilltop -
below is a peach grove
in glorious, pregnant bloom
such strange fruit, these southern trees bear
burnished, dark, twisted
slowly spinning in the cruel heat -
and flies … darting
then …
realization
hits me like a doubled fist
and I retch into the beautiful snowy
blossoms at my knees
turning away from the bloat in
abject horror and shame …
for my skin is white -
the fetor, overwhelming
and he ...
was but a boy.
~ For Billie Holiday and Abel Meeropol ~
Copyright © 2019 Gregory Richard Barden
( photographic art created copyright-free by the poet with GALA AI software )
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden | Year Posted 2025
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