Gwendolyn Brooks

To Black Women

Sisters,
where there is cold silence 
no hallelujahs, no hurrahs at all, no handshakes,
no neon red or blue, no smiling faces 
prevail.
Prevail across the editors of the world
who are obsessed, self-honeying and self-crowned
in the seduced arena.

It has been a
hard trudge, with fainting, bandaging and death.
There have been startling confrontations.
There have been tramplings. Tramplings
of monarchs and of other men.

But there remain large countries in your eyes.
Shrewd sun.

The civil balance.
The listening secrets.
And you create and train your flowers still.

_{Brooks, Gwendolyn. To Disembark. Chicago, IL.: Third World Press, 1981.}