'In the Eighties We did the Wop" by Major Jackson, and Mary Strong Jackson's poem in response.
In the Eighties We Did the Wop By Major Jackson If you end your crusades for the great race, then I will end my reenactments of flying, and if you lean down to smell a painted trillium, then I will cast a closer eye on those amber waves, then I will turn my drums to the sea and away from your wounded mountains. Who mothered your love of death? Here is a heart-shaped stone to rub when you feel fear rising; give me anything, an empty can of Pabst, a plastic souvenir, a t-shirt from Daytona. Here is a first edition: The Complete Poems of Lucille Clifton. Give me an ancient grove and a conversation by a creek, charms to salve my griefs, something that says you are human, and I will give you the laughter ...

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