Isaac Murphy The first time I put my hands on a horse I pretend like I’m touching a woman or brushing my Mamma’s hair, except I make sure none of the ugly I might be carrying around is riding with me. Before I step foot in a stall, I might even stop gather myself in […]
Isaac Murphy When I’m up there dodging mud and sprinting to the post I don’t think about winning. Don’t think the horse do either. I can’t even hear the crowd cussing me hard and loud for leading my mount pass their first or second choice. I never consider how easy it is to fall out […]
Frank X Walker introduces his poem “I Thought Slavery Was a Song.”
Isaac Murphy I don’t remember any shackles. I remember Mamma always singing and daddy whistling out the door in the half-light of morning returning to us almost mute after the tobacco barn swallowed the sun. I didn’t know what it meant to be worked like a dog but I knew it had something to do […]
Frank X Walker Q&A introduces his poem “Oh Weep No More Today.”
for Merlene Davis “The head must bow and the back will have to bend, wherever the darky may go…” -My Old Kentucky Home original lyrics Isaac Murphy Seems like every parlor I visit has one of Foster’s “Plantation Melodies as sung by Christy’s Minstrels” out on display. I’m afraid of what it is refined white […]
Frank X Walker Q&A introduces his poem “I Dedicate This Ride.”
Isaac Murphy When I come barreling down the stretch, I always think about my daddy, a runaway slave turned soldier. At the start of every race, I pretend he’s in the crowd, standing at attention, watching me ride for the first time, his brass belt buckle gleaming like his proud mouth. I tell myself, I […]