With apologies to Langston Hughes and in memory of all those who perished in Minneapolis, New Orleans, and elsewhere across this neglected land, I offer the following original poem:
The Sound of Neglect
How does neglect sound?
Does it groan and screech
like a bridge in collapse?
Or rattle and huff
like a bum seeking scraps?
Does it rumble and gush
like a levee split wide?
Or moan and wheeze
like a patient denied?Maybe it sniffles and wails
like a child unfed.Or is it silent—
like the dead?
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Amen, David.
I doubt Mr Hughes would deem your apology appropriate,let alone accept it.
[...] This morning, at the invitation of my friend Karen, I attended a service that she had helped to organize at the Unitarian Society of Northampton and Florence. The service was comprised largely of poetry and song—some composed by established authors such as Wendell Berry and Maxine Kumin, some composed by local folk such as Karen and I—which was read or performed before the congregation. The overriding theme of the service was political action. My contribution was to read the Langston Hughes’ poem, Harlem (A Dream Deferred), and then my own poem, The Sound of Neglect. The service concluded with a powerful poem by Martin Espada, which I have taken the liberty of reproducing here: Imagine the Angels of Bread [...]