I came to Cincinnati when I was ten
with my sister and my daddy and my mama’s best friend
We’d left Lafayette on a midnight moon
Mama was a waitress, worked till noon.
I silently died in the back of the car
Sister cried quietly in my arms
We hid under covers ‘neath a midnight moon
Thinking about mama comin’ home at noon.
She would call out our names
Call our names
She would call out our names
“Margaret! James!”
We crossed the Ohio, I can still see the sign
I started tryin’ to put Lafayette behind
Took care of my sister, prayed every day
“Oh Mama, cross that river, take us away”.
Call out our names
Margaret. James.
It’s been ages since Lafayette
But it’s just yesterday when we left
My sister got married, was born again
Seems to have buried what will not end
I’m in a car, I’m ten, I want to turn it around
Find her house and then I’ll burn it down
Want fire in the sky, the moon aflame
Want to ask her why, why she never came
She never called out our names
Called our names
Call our names
Margaret. James.
Throughout November I am writing a poem every day as part of an effort to raise funds for The Center For New Americans. If you like the poems (or even if you don’t) and would like to support this fantastic organization, please follow this link. Thanks.