Grove
Photo of Troops outside the Colored Soldiers
Barracks, Camp Nelson
The first time
we really see each other
and not be able to tell
who master the cruelest
who sorrow the deepest
who row been the hardest to hoe
we was lined up like trees in the yard
all standing with chins up,
chests out, shoulders back,
and already hollow stomachs, in.
Not slaves, not nobody’s property
—just solid, oak-like men.
The only thing taller or straighter
than us, be the boards
holding up the barracks at our backs.
Though most our feets feel pigeon-toed
and powerful sore
from marching back and forth, everyday
for what seem like more miles
than we walked to get here,
it take more than pride to stand still
‘neath these lil’ hats not made for shade.
Soldiering ain’t easy, but it sure beat
the bloody shirt off bondage.