God must have cut you from a big BAAAD cat - or perhaps a strain of graceful Afrikan gazelles - or a fleet of pink swans streaking through paradise. In your blazing evolutionary flight to eternal greatness you was smokin', Homie. Sizzling. Gone. Run, boy! Yo' mama's callin' ya! Your long sleek legs striding through your dream - galloping over continents and oceans and riverine plains - you never once looked back, not even when the stars and the sun and monsoon moons prostrated themselves at your gold-sneakered feet. How did you race past the wind - past Odin feasting on the souls of long-dead heroes?
Reginald S. Lewis resides in Waynesburg, Pennsylvania. His poems, plays, stories, and essays have appeared in a wide array of publications, and he has received two P.E.N. American Center Writing Awards for Prisoners. This poem is from a newly completed collection entitled Leaving Death Row, for which Lewis is seeking a publisher.
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|Author:||Lewis, Reginald S.|
|Publication:||African American Review|
|Date:||Mar 22, 1999|
|Next Article:||Passages: an African experience of the kiaspora.|