WE ALL BLEED RED
We'd heard the old stories.
Any southerner had.
the burnings,
mutilations and castrations
the lynchings, invitations sent
to jeering crowds.That was behind us,
we often said.
I mean--wasn't it the sixties?
'the times they were a 'changing',
Dylan promised us in song.
Klan losing its foothold
as men marched for peace, instead.But we saw them
my parents and I.
Cross set aflame
Hate clad in white
hood-hidden faces
white robes covering
hearts black as the night.
'Lighting the torch for jesus',
these good christians claimed.
Out to do purify our race,
sanctify our name.Well, we all bleed red.
They, of all people, should know.
Why can't they see?
Watching that cross,
I lost some of me.
Pris Campbell
©2001
Accepted for publication in The Dead Mule,
an Anthology of Southern Literature, Spring 2003
In dedication to the men above and the thousands like them.Music: Amazing Grace