Oula Willy Poet Free verse

The Dark Charcoal

I am a hard, darkest charcoal born from the brightest flames that have named our continent.

I grew up breathing in the history of colonialism and slavery, breathing out the smoke of pain and suffering.

The rain that washes us comes from the smoke we breathe, and yes, just the faces, not the body.

Our roots moved many rivers and mountains; now our seedlings lack all they need to grow.

Our leaves were falling without new buds as our stems stood bare with paintings of our past, roots barely holding the shrinking infertile ground.

I grew up through this flame and became the only stem redder and hotter than all.

The sour water that washed my parents to my roots made me the hardest to be fallen.

I did not remain fresh; I had to shrink, dry, and burn, releasing the fumes that chase every ogre and beast.

I speak and act from the roots, so now our seedlings will grow.

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