My locked up tears flowed again April 4, 1968

My locked up tears flowed again

I was standing in my kitchen ironing

When the news flash interrupted the
Regular programming on TV
The date was April 4, 1968

When I heard

Martin Luther King's name

I stopped ironing

Nervously whispering under my breath

Putting it and my brain on hold

Oh, God. No! Not again!

But it was again!
And another assassination!

My locked up tears started flowing
Again!

I cried and cried and cried

Only God and me know how I cried

I cried easier during those youthful days

My heart was not hard and cold

Those days were full of patriotic

Protests and honest marching

In the streets of America
I understood the politics of freedom
But the politics of death was what
I wanted to run from

That's not to say I don't understand
Death or painful crying
I am not personally acquainted with death
However, I did have a close encounter
But I don't count that incident because 
I survived the foolish dare

I don't cry so easily these days
My tears have gotten selfish

They have gotten harder and

Tougher to arouse out of their sleep

Violence has a way of

Draining the body and soul when it

Occurs too soon, too often

Nonetheless, I still get misty eyed

And sentimental when

I hear one of Martin's speeches 

Especially the one in which he talks about

Little black girls and boys walking

Hand-in-hand with little
White girls and boys

Little black children who should be

Judged for the content of their character

Not the color of their skin

Martin had a dream
Mahalia Jackson reminded him of it
One August day in Washington:
"Tell them about your dream, Martin!

Tell them about your dream!"
Mahalia encouraged
And Martin revealed his dream
Making America dream with him

Parting with a different speech in Memphis, Tennessee

Martin told us about sick

Whitemen wanting to

Kill him for no logical reason
Other than to shut down his dream 
He had no right to demand a fair and just America
These sick Whiteman wanted to shut down
His ideology, his politics, his righteousness
Their dry White hate wanted to still his voice
 

 I've Been To The Mountaintop
Is not repeated as often as
I Have A Dream
But the speech was just as memorable 
It had an important message  

Martin was in Memphis to march and protest
With striking sanitation workers
They wanted recognition for their worth
As working men
As human beings

Their posters screamed:
I AM A MAN!
I AM A MAN!

They walked and walked and walked 
Justice was just around the corner

Martin requested one of
His favorite Mahalia Jackson songs
I think it might have been
Precious Lord, Take My Hand
No one could sing it like Mahalia
It's one of those old Negro
Tear-jerking spirituals

The song wrapped itself around Martin

And then Martin Luther king told us that he
Just wanted to do God's will
He said he had

Gone to the Mountaintop
God allowed him to

 See the Promise Land

Did you really see it, Martin?
What did you see?

My heart swelling with the hallelujah of God

I felt empowered to

Understand what Martin was saying
Nevertheless, I wanted to know what the
Promise Land looked like 

Not everyone is permitted to
Climb to the mountaintop
To see what Martin saw

I vividly remember

The glow on Martin's face that night 
His face had a shiny halo
Must be the glow of God 
I thought to myself

Near the end of the speech
Martin said:

And then I got to Memphis
And some began to say the threats
Or talk of threats were out.
What would happen to me
From some of our sick White brothers.
Well, I don't know what will happen now.
Because I have been to the
Mountaintop. And I don't mind.
Like anybody I want
To live a long life. 
Longevity has its place.
 And I am happy tonight.
I'm not worried about anything.
I'm not fearing any man!

Martin said his eyes had seen the
Glory of the coming of the Lord 
I envied him because my eyes
Were not open enough to see God
And the coming of His glory

When Martin said: I may not get there with you

I wondered why would God
Show him the Promise Land
And not let him cross over 
Perhaps God explained the journey 
To him as he did with Moses  

The Book of Deuteronomy says:

Then Moses went up from the plains of Moab
To Mount Nebo, to the top of Pisgah,
Which is across from Jericho.
And the Lord showed showed him all 
Land of Gilead as far as Dan,
All Naphtali and the land of
Ephraim and Manasseh, all the land
of Judah as far as the Western Sea,
The South, and the plain of the Valley
of Jericho, the city of palm trees
As far as Zoar. Then the Lord said to him,
This is the land of which I swore
To give to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob,
Saying, I will give it to your descendants.
I have caused you to see it with your own eyes,
But you shall not cross over there.

Martin was graced to see what we could not

 He did not live in fear of dangerous Whitemen

Hyper hound dogs and water

Spraying hoses held with hateful hands

The prospect of death
Did not scare him, but still
He knew that longevity has it place
He preferred it to death
But God's will had to be done

I learned from Martin that
A man or woman cannot achieve 
The complete art of living

While stuck in the concrete fear
Unlike Martin, I was straddling the fence
My false bravery was too fearful of dying
I was not ready for the mountain walk

Drum majors are destined to stand

Out front for justice
 Refusing to be intimidated
 Strutting and marching toward

Gun fired bullets and

Fast thrown bricks and
Bottles and race tinged words

I wish I could have known Martin

I would have asked him to

Show me how to dream about

Real freedom and peace of mind

How to be nonviolent when

Starring violence in the face

I would have asked him to hold my hand so that his

Strength could surge through my body
 Like a bolt of lightning
Energizing my weaknesses and fears

That were choking the free life
I should have been living
My fearful spirit could not pull 
My feet out of the concrete

I would have asked Martin to show

Me how to look over the mountaintop

And not be scared if I was not

Destined to make it to the Promise Land 
To walk and talk to God

Standing in my kitchen
Trembling and crying, the iron in my hand
I wondered if my eyes would  ever
See the coming of the Lord

(C) by dorothy charles banks