The first blow hurt.
(God is love, is love.)
My blood spit into the dirt.
(Sustain my love, oh, Lord above!)
Curses circled one another.
(They were angry with their brother.)
I was too weak
For this holy game.
A single freckled fist
Knocked out the memory of His name.
Bloody, I heard a long, black moan,
Like waves from slave ships long ago.
With Gabriel Prosser’s dogged knuckles
I struck an ancient blow.
-By James Emmanuel
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