A Poem Written in Response to, and in the Mode of
“The Negro Speaks of Rivers,” by Langston Hughes
I’ve known harmony:
I’ve known voices of brown, yellow, black, and white
to lift up together in seraphic harmony as one.
My eyes are now blind to such tenuous harmony.
I came of age in the sultry tropic heat of South Florida.
I knew friends from Peru, China, Hati, and Cuba.
I saw no significant distinctions between them.
I sang a song of friendship to any kindred spirit,
no matter the shade of his epidermis, and still I mourn the loss
of those concordant bonds of my carefree tropical youth.
I’ve known harmony:
deep, rich harmony.
My eyes still seek some semblance of harmony in the stagnant Mississippi swamp.
