african american poetry

woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me
and still they walked on
the arches of the red bridge
wrap the earth in cloudy weather
what was it the engines said
royal feast was done
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
when the wind works against us in the dark
candles toppling sideways in tomato cans
what shall we do now
within this lowly grave a conqueror lies
she limps with halting painful pace