It comes from a crest in the soul
where the walls never touch so the sound
comes from all around.
It’s a hole
that speaks in wallows from the inner voices of those hanging in the gallows.
It’s earnest and honest.
It pains to hear because I know it sears as it leaves her already blackened throat.
Oh, that sound knows no death.
And so I’d rather be deaf
than to hear the sound of the black woman’s cry.