Margaret Walker Poems >>
Dark Blood

There were bizarre beginnings in old lands for the making
    of me. There were sugar sands and islands of fern and
    pearl, palm jungles and stretches of a never-ending sea.

There were the wooing nights of tropical lands and the cool
    discretion of flowering plains between two stalwart
    hills. They nurtured my coming with wanderlust. I
    sucked fevers of adventure through my veins with my
    mother's milk.

Someday I shall go to the tropical lands of my birth, to the
    coasts of continents and the tiny wharves of island
    shores. I shall roam the Balkans and the hot lanes of
    Africa and Asia. I shall stand on mountain tops and
    gaze on fertile homes below.

And when I return to Mobile I shall go by the way of
    Panama and Bocas del Toro to the littered streets and
    the one-room shacks of my old poverty, and blazing suns
    of other lands may struggle then to reconcile the pride
    and pain in me.