Editor’s Note: I am opening up the blog to my black friends to contribute their thoughts and experiences at this time of a reckoning in this country. I am happy to introduce you to the poetry of E.J. Wade. A year ago, we traveled to Spain and France together as part of Shepherd University’s Appalachian Studies program under the direction of Dr. S. Shurbutt. That trip seems another era ago now.

E.J. Wade is a teacher from Oak Park, Illinois. A graduate from Northwestern University she is currently in pursuit of a doctoral degree in Disability and Equity in Education from National Louis University. An artist and craftsperson, she collects words as she hums ancient spirituals. As an educator and a poet, she shares her love of words and her respect for family and traditions with her students and all whom she encounters. Her poetry is featured in the 2020 addition of the Anthology of Appalachian Writers: Crystal Wilkinson Volume XII.

For All My Sons

For all my sons
black, brown, red, and yellow
My nights are filled with
the sounds of sirens|
and broken glass

Blinded by the lights
strobing crimson and red
I close my eyes and
cover my ears
drowning out your cries
hidden in the silence
delivered beneath
the heaviness of

racism
baton
bullets
and combat boots

Your skin a mark, cursed by

Slavery and those who
fear your very presence

Shot down
suffocated
maligned
incarcerated
and silenced

before you are able to grow
into the man who would

Father
lead
teach
mentor
serve
protect

and grow old in wisdom.

This is not the dream
I had for you
Your birth was a
celebratory proclamation
of promise and possibility

Your cry anointing the earth
declaring your arrival a miracle

You are the one who would
leave a mark on the world

Strong
determined
persistent

You would persevere
through struggle and encroachment
A warrior of your time
A champion to be reckoned with
The one who would

protest
injustice
inequality
discrimination
criminalization

in the name of your
forefathers and foremothers
Let not the anger and rage
of these futile times
deter you from your mission

Let not violence change
your spirit and weather your soul
For you are your mothers’ sons

our present
our future

and without you
We are no more
than the ground beneath
our feet.