My ancestors
leaned on faith
Carried it in their bones
Believed with their whole hearts
they turned the other cheek
when massa beat them down with the bullwhip
when police beat them in the street
or shot them or locked them up

My ancestors endured
the sale of their children, husbands, wives
the deaths of their sons, brothers, fathers
the rapes of their daughters, sisters, mothers
Holding their faces toward the sky
they prayed, they cried, they fell to their knees
Believing, believing, always believing
This too shall pass

The pain will pass
The tears will cease
We can bear the weight of our suffering

My ancestors
whose blood flowed down the rivers
or was sucked up by the soils of Oklahoma, Mississippi
whose bodies swung from the trees,
in Mississippi, Louisiana, Alabama
a strange fruit, faces distorted in agony or deathly defiance
dressed in Spanish moss, and yet

My ancestors
never lost their faith
Believed in the story of Job
believed God would not, could not
put more on their backs, in their hearts
than they could handle
They believed as blacks today still believe
This too shall pass