1619

I am the placeless one

1619

I am the placeless one
wandering, wandering. 
I am the placeless one,
I been this way since 1619. 

I am the placeless one
wandering, wandering
my wounds have never healed. 

In some of my ancestors they healed,
but not all. 
Not in my father, and not in me. 

I turn and turn
and turn into song
Til wound blusters into Blues
Til wound festers into wailing
like the Misssssssss-issippi, 
the Sound of Many Waters

Do you hear the sound of my many waters
streaming from my eyes
sweat pouring from my pores 
as I rock back and forth
back and forth 
back and forth
in exile?

I am the placeless one
wandering, wandering 
since Jamestown —
slave of King James —
I am the placeless one
wandering, wandering,
since 1619.

In New York, 
New Dutchland,
New Amsterdam,
see me walk
to the subway, 

tears streaming down my face,
Ssssssss sound of many waters 
streaming down my face
without shame. 

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