George-Floyd-uprising

The White House

by

Claude McKay (1891-1948)

 

Your door is shut against my tightened face,

And I am sharp as steel with discontent;

But I possess the courage and the grace

To bear my anger proudly and unbent.

The pavement slabs burn loose beneath my feet,

A chafing savage, down the decent street;

And passion rends my vitals as I pass,

Where boldly shines your shuttered door of glass,

Oh, I must search for wisdom every hour,

Deep in my wrathful bosom sore and raw,

And find in it the superhuman power

To hold me to the letter of your law!

Oh, I must keep my heart inviolate

Against the potent poison of your hate.

***

The prescience of Claude McKay, a prominent Jamaican-born figure in the “Harlem Renaissance” of the 1920″s?

Or just another case of the more things change the more they stay the same?

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