An Easter Sunday Special
Today, on this Easter Sunday, we kick off the Blackstack "Seven Days of Black Poetry" with a submission written by E.A. Noble—and it's so good!
Over the next seven days I will be publishing new poetry exclusively submitted to Blackstack by Black poets in the community. Y’all really don’t get enough love in the writing world, so I created the “Seven Days of Black Poetry” series for us.
To me poets are the bridge between written word and what Black music used to be, hip-hop and underground, word power. Telling a story in a few words, connecting the dots that others may struggle to see.
We honor the Black poets who are no longer with us today, so this is my way of giving our very own their flowers while they are living. On this Easter Sunday, what better way to kick off with the old school Sunday Service Announcements newsletter vibes. E.A. Noble, thank you for lending your pen for us to enjoy.
I be a Ghost at 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama
Written by E.A. Noble
When the church lady…
When the church lady passes out…
When the church lady passes out they
cover her with a white sheet.
Praise Jesus,
Our Savior.
Praise Jesus,
Jesus, our Savior.
When the church lady passes out…
the congregation shouts!
Praise Jesus. Praise Jesus.
And they, too, fall out.
But not to the ground…
up, up, and up.
Taken away by the holy spirit.
Their wings point up!
Heels beat the floor, louder than…
tambourines, louder than guitar.
Louder than preacher spitting into the mic.
Louder, louder, louder still…
Praise Jesus.
When the church lady passes out…
I stand in the back, tucked in the corner.
Two steps away from the speaker.
The choir sings, praise Jesus.
A church lady writhes against….
A church lady writhes against
an egg white wall while a church man
beats his chest then the drums.
Praise Jesus.
Then the roof opens up…
The roof opens up and…
The roof opens up and angels descend…
The roof opens up and angels descend into…
16th Street Baptist Church.
And the angels are white…
the angels are white,
but not like the pictures, but like…
bombs.
The angels are white.
And the angels open their mouths…
And the angels open their mouths and…
and the angels open their mouths and
deliver God's word.
Praise Jesus.
The angels deliver God's word and…
it's too much for us to handle.
I say, the angels deliver God's word and it's too much
for us to handle.
The word reshapes our bodies…
Reshapes us, separates us from flesh.
Separates us from sinners.
Separates us from saints.
Praise Jesus.
The church lady passes out…
all the church ladies pass out.
So does the men, the drummer, the guitarist,
the choir, and the preacher.
When the sirens come…
Praise Jesus.
When the sirens come.
I be floating in the air looking down.
Floating in the air.
I be looking down.
Down I be,
floating in the air with the angels…
and I see.
I see paramedics carrying out church ladies…
bodies covered in white sheets.
I see white sheets.
I see…
Praise Jesus.
I see when the church lady passes out…
they cover her in white sheets.
Praise Jesus, our Lord.
Praise Jesus. Our Savior.
At 16th Street Baptist Church
in Birmingham, Alabama.
I see white sheets.
I see, I see…
the church lady passed out covered in
white sheets.
Let us know in the comments how E.A. Noble’s words resonate with you, I know for me I remember those white sheets oh so well. However, the lines in this poem will settle in my mind wondering the significance of the white sheet on a deeper level now. That’s one of the most beautiful things about poetry, right?
 | A guest post by
|
My Papa was from Birmingham and I spent my summers there growing up. The statue images of the 4 Little Girls, the man being sprayed with the firehose and the dog barking viciously, and the thought of how many white sheets (or lack thereof) in the aftermath were evoked on this Resurrection Sunday.
But when she describes closing my eyes and seeing the white sheets, I can’t help but think, my God how I can’t wait to hear You say, “you’ve endured this world, but you did not fold in this world. Well done my child” and the angels crying out loud.
She did that! Thank You Lord for what it is and what it isn’t.
This poem is unlike any Easter poem I’ve read. The movement and pacing is mesmerizing. I instantly thought about Paul’s awakening, the violence of White sheets aka white folks on Black bodies in what should be sacred spaces. While at the same time, folks still seeking hope from God and the power of praise in difficult days.