Spiritual

In a dark room a poet
stands at a microphone
and pins a melody
onto the front end of a slogan.
We all know the tune.
We stir vaguely at the sound.
We remember being told
that this was the sound
of the door slamming shut on this side
of the Middle Passage. We remember
being told to care.

We know we should want
to cross over Jordan, long for the chariot,
strain to hear Gabriel’s horn.
We feel embarrassed
that we don’t,
so we applaud to cover it up.

Far away in a South Carolina swamp
a ghost joins in on the song
and hums the North Star
into the sky.
The ghost knows
we do not understand how that happens —
oh, believe me, he has always known —
and he sings it with or without us.

You do not know
what will stir
when you take a spiritual
for your own.
If you sing one, if you
hear one, be prepared
to greet the ghost.