Discovering Fenton Johnson

I’m wandering
through a National Park
full of ghosts with signposts
offering direction
to different dreams and ideas.

I have no route,
other than the turns I take
when I read Tired
or The Miracle.
Even your name
inspires me to ponder
where I’ve travelled from.

The first
is a murky time in my youth,
while the second
is a leader I’m trying to conquer,
using truths he refuses
to acknowledge.

I trek further,
even though I’m new to this.
You had more reason
to burn the fields of your history.
But I admire the voice
you provided in the dark
for your brothers and sisters.

So in your style
and in your honour,
along this path I’ve freshly trodden,
I’ll uproot the dandelions
and plant them
in a rose garden.

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