Paul Buchanan
Black Flood
Sometimes, when I look around
I see the truth bleached.
Ancestors snake into my mouth
Their venom stains my voice.
You don’t want to leave
The Dream. Are our spines
Comfortable? Nesting on our backs
Must be hard for you.
Things won’t even out but,
We’ll get it back someday.
The rage we’re born into
Will roar in their ears.
Mourn the dead in whispers.
Scream the old sorrow quietly.
We’ll wake the bloodless devils
By saying nothing at all.
You won’t sleep on us
Not for much longer friend.
We’ll get you back someday.
Back to this global night.
Our soul wants your blood.
We’ll do this your way.
Forgiveness won’t wake you up.
It’ll be the hard slap.
It’ll be the silent gunshot.
It’ll be the hissing rope.
It’ll be the ghost whisper.
It’ll be the pale chain.
We’ll force your eyes open.
It’ll be the black flood
Paul Buchanan is a sophomore at Swarthmore College whose work has received the John Russell Hayes Award and appeared in Swarthmore’s Visibility magazine. He finds inspiration from the people around him, notably his sisters, his mother, and his peers in the Swarthmore writing community.
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