The Last Supper Club
Welcome to the last supper club
where we welcome brother Trayvon to the Lord’s table….
where last meals go to dream of freedom…
the first member was admitted on the coast of Ghana
where he swallowed sand to remind him of home
as he was dragged to the Lord’s Mercy
bound for Jamaica;
then what of the man
whose last meal from Angola to Brazil
was his own tongue
or the girl who was force fed yams swimming with weevils
and choked on her way from Igboland to Virginia;
“eat negar eat….”
last suppers—-a black pig roasted over wood in Haiti; before a bayonet from Napoleon’s guard
gassed Haitians forgotten with sugarcane in their teeth…
a handful of rice down in South Carolina before the Stono Rebellion commenced; and his head was displayed on the way to Charleston
“make him a lesson for the rest…”
oysters in the belly of Denby shot dead on the Eastern Shore of Maryland
dying of hunger, heartache and murder
she swallowed cotton root tea after being raped by her Master,
she was a teacher after Reconstruction—lynched in Mississippi–
a bellyful of corn muffins and country ham….
butterbeans and buttermilk to the tune of 5,000 men women and children
a seafood muddle in Wilmington,
hotwater cornbread in Tulsa
Sunday greens in Red Summer
peppermints and soda water in the belly of Emmett Tilll
Mississippi mud in a cotton gin fan,
“gotta teach that boy a lesson,”
Violet Liuzzo, Shwerner, Cheney, Goodman
foccacia and matzo, poundcake and honey cake
a pig’s foot in Watts
Memphis barbecue, King is shot….
rice and peas in the gullet of children in London’s Brixton,
Sus-Laws and the National Front say “There’s No Black in the Union Jack,”
a piece of pizza in Bensonhurst “what’s that moli doing…….”
rice and beans and ground nut stew leaking from bullet holes
in Harlem,
the empty stomach of Troy Davis down in Georgia
all of you, at the Lord’s last supper club
and now a stomach laced with skittles
a last taste of 17 year old sweetness
for a boy hunted down
on the streets of Sanford
sitting himself in sorrow
next to the ancestors
the freedom fighters
the justice seekers
all of them, all of us, all of us
hungry
hungry
hungry
for peace.
—-Rest In Peace, Trayvon, it could have been any of us.
Afroculinaria 
There is nowhere to grieve in this America that I am told is very different and yet very much the same.
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Thank you for your continued eloquence to unfolding events in America.
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Not a bit of difference between 1921 and 2012, save the ammo and the guns.
How on earth do I open the eyes of my white sisters and brothers to the privilege granted by the color of their skin? Nothing’s going to change before that happens. Until we get over the freedom we’ve granted ourselves through our lightness, and recognize that WE did this, WE shaped the situation in our image and exploited faith, technology, disease, and riches to do so, then no matter what happens, it’s always going to be hotwater cornbread in Tulsa, sand in Ghana, and Skittles in Florida.
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