African Roots

1.

I was born in Sierra Leone years and years ago: 
a three-pound seven-month preemie.

Yet here I am.

I even have pictures of myself:
head looking out of a cloth,

slung on the back
of a beautiful African woman.

2.

At one year old, I arrived in Huntington, Indiana. 
In that town (I was told) “by law”
Negroes were not allowed to overnight. 

Yet Africans from Sierra Leone were received as guests. 

3.

Most of my life, I have worked with African Americans.
With many, I’ve become close friends. 
For that I have always been grateful. 

Most have now died,
including Rodney Smith from Roxbury.

For a time time he was “Rodney X”.

4.

Rodney played saxophone at night 
when we worked Vegas together,

getting male African-American Vegas residents
trained to be dealers.

Now almost all Vegas dealers are black.

5.
Right after we left Vegas,
Rodney died of a wasting disease
in a D.C. hospital.

I saw him the day before he died.
It was grim.
I almost wish I hadn’t.

6.

He’s been gone now, must be fifty years.
I still feel the loss,

remember the ease of our friendship
and the stories he’d tell

about Malcolm.

How much I lost!