Language of who survived.
Syntax built out of scraps— chipped
ship wood and leftover pig guts—
words linked out of need.
Rhythm song to the tune of the sea
and marketplace wood block, dropped
copula holding space for what couldn’t
be brought along— old gods
and the names our mamas gave us.

This that good shit
we niggas speak
and every word out our mouths
dipped in gold. This
the shit that keeps us fed.
Shit of hollering out in joy, shit
of laughing and running cause
that shit funny, shit of Jam grease
cooking the side of my damn head.

Pidgin of endurance—
through hot sun and cotton thorn, through
cold, indifferent North. Phonology
built on prayer for Promised Land, sweet
rains of God. Grammar of hidden-
under-floorboards, grammar of bus-
on-fire, cross-on-fire, town-on-fire.

That Black people good shit.
this shit so good—
we looked Death in its ugly,
white ass face and taught
ourselves its tongue. Now
this shit the only thing anybody wanna use.

Sweet tongue of watching it burn
and building it all again.

Published July 4th, 2021

Candria Slamin (she/her) is a recent college graduate from Virginia, USA. When she’s not being a poet, she’s busy being a giant nerd on the Internet. Find her on Twitter at @candyslam_.

J.B. Murray was an artist from Sandersville, Georgia, where he was born in 1908 and died in 1988. In addition to galleries across the country, Murray’s work has been exhibited by numerous art institutions, including the Tate Britain, Collection de l’Art Brut Lausanne, Souls Grown Deep Foundation, Smithsonian American Art Museum, and American Folk Art Museum. More of Murray’s work can be viewed online at Cavin Morris Gallery.