Harlem Sunday

Harlem Cultural Festival, 1969

As though Eve herself,
in all her intricate glory,
electrified once again the rib,

as though her twin lungs, rumbling
with divine breath,
let loose,

Mahalia & Mavis emerged—
earthy minerals—nitrogen,
phosphorus, calcium,
iron—
thundering in their throats,

vibrato with lightning
parting the sea of thick air,
octaves
emitting the ancient

musk of dawn’s first rain,
reverberating between centuries-
old blame,
dusky joy, & hard-won
stage,
amplified
by the confluence

of Dorsey’s hymn with bluesy strings,
gospel keys, & twilight
tambourine—

it was their turn
to translate,
all in one accord,
groans of the Ghost—
yes, Holy!—

before the throne, imploring,
insisting, Hold my hand,
lest I fall—
so what precious Lord
would ever say no?

Photo by Kin Li on Unsplash