Think Thoughts Thinking
Think Thoughts Thinking
"Think," she sang
out of the black fire of 1968,
the smoldering year, "what you're trying to do to
me.
You better think…" and we thought,
out of vernacular pride
under skin, over bone and blood,
our minds on vacation
in assassinated dreams
on the freeways of love,
our mouths contradicting
our teeth so finely chewing
the lotus of revolutions
that our eyes would not see
what was on the ground
when a natural woman
sang in a man's world.
Me was not she but we.
And the histories
we failed to think into
with diligence of ice
fried our minds and our hair.
Death begets new valuation,
regrets, perhaps,
that our ears did
now and then misconstrue
the genius art of her voice
spun on iconic turntables
as the "quiet-as-its-kept"
sound/waves carried her power,
her iterations of ain't no way
but to do right in the house that God built.
"Think," she sings
out of the black fire of 1968
"what you're trying to do to me."
After fifty years
our thoughts do think
with overdue respect
and treasure for destiny's sake
what the Queen of Soul
sanctified in sounds for us to make.
Me is not she but we.
Jerry W. Ward, Jr. November 9, 2018
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