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In Remembrance, by Alan King

depoetry
June 1, 2015

--for Amiri Baraka and the D.C. Writers' Corps Fundraiser in 2006


Daylight glazed the Boulevard
at Capital Centre before
poetry made it our Tython,

the glad planet, where weeping
willows hang their chandeliers
of waxy green light,

where the emerald echo of sky
ripples at the wind's cool urging.

I remember the air seemed edible
when the spicy-sweet aroma wandered
from Gladys Knight's Chicken and Waffles.

You smiled, watching padawan word smiths
spar with the Council of First Knowledge –
DJ Renegade and Laini Mataka
deflecting young lasers
with their saber-bright lines –

poets training in the Jedi Temple
in a city above the clouds
where Tunisian Patchouli were
fragrant finches whisking aromatic trails
through this world built of words.

If poetry is a kind of prayer, a longing
for the soul starved for revelation,
then your sermons were a daily admission
of America's weaknesses,

you master word dancer, conjurer
of the black 'cadabra, Yoda
with his glow stick drawn
when the dark forces crew up
like the Sith Empire.

I'm grateful for your owl spirit
that sees beyond the mask,
even if it meant McGreevey snatching
your state laureate position for declaring
"Somebody Blew Up America":

Who believe the confederate flag need to be flying
Who talk about democracy and be lying


You declared it again on a Thursday in June
before the sun – sky spider
spinning its lacework of light – vanished
and you were an owl on fire, calling:

Who and Who and WHO who who

before the rain, before the dead mike
before the anxious feet scrambling to shelter.


Read more of Alan King's poems in the Spring 2015 edition of the Delaware Poetry Review.