Black History

One turntable was all DJ Champ had. The fade was to wait.Two big speaker box for the boom

Two tweetershung like bees on wire above the front door

Sacred hearted Jesus

Mister Clarence dancing to Lord Nelson's 'Night Train', was the only glimpse we stole of him

In this motion.With his head up and easy, smiling even,holding out his glass of Whiteways of Whimple to the side so it don't spill when he slide

And spin on his heel

There were full women in the kitchensmoking filterless Broadways and drinking Scotch straight. Tanty Ursula was young then, among them, strongand long before her stroke

Ursula had plenty verve.She would stand unsolicited and sing to the room. Sing out with her tremulous voice.Sing, 'My Way' or 'Misty, sing 'The Way We Were', wavering between keys but upwards she drove,into the wild arc

Of her highest note

Black history

Now, her aunt Zeen had been in Boston since 1972. Zeen's blood was close to her skin.She would throw her head back an laugh, blow smoke. Cuss hard and break a young man's carapace

She could drink hard rum and linger long after grog had beat up the competition

She drank men silly, till they floated up and sighed

Zeen would fry chicken by the bucket, curry a cast of river crabs,soup up some bull foot soup — Fridays on Dorchester Avenue

Her sons would bring their wives from New England.Yankee life. Varsity sweaters. Plastic shoes and cheap perfume

Zeen in Boston working as a nurse.At night she working for the sanitation department But when Zeen threw a party, she would hire a DJ, And when music leggo — bram —she would pull people up to dance

Black history

Now, their motherMa, Nobelta Lezama,was my great grand mother,she died at 102after outliving two husbandsafter giving birth to eight children walking8 miles from hillside to townto sell mangoes in central market. Nobelta could slap harsh cards downin late night gambling games.She drank her coffeeblack and strongand knew herb trees by their first names She could see through skin to sickness and foretell things to come.Born solid.She didconjure a spacecraft, they say,from a calabash, and do this allwithout Western belief in the afterlife

But from the root set in sweet mud

Now, Ma Nobelta's mother was Ma Marie,Born of Black Africa— historical mystery

Must have been sometimein 1870s, this was near after slavery And the village gave her their secrets for safekeeping,to be unravelled through generations of Black history

Black history