“Black Cloth,” Marcus Amaker
Racism, let us no longer walk in your shoes. you are a traveler of darkness, a walker of shadows, cloaking yourself in a black cloth like the grim reaper and arming your soul with the tools of a terrorist- a misguided soldier who’s trying to start a war.
My sisters, heaven was as close as your breath that night. You came to Mother Emanuel to worship in the glow of God, and speak the light that flows from love. How beautiful of Him to hear your words and lift you into the arms of Christ
My brothers, you walked toward heaven with focus, even when your shoes were stained with the dirt of intolerance. A black cloth lays silent at Clementa’s seat, resting under a single rose. It was taken from our city’s soil, where seeds of faith continue to grow.
Charleston, I see heaven in your tears and feel the weight of sadness in your voice. I’ve seen strangers hold hands as the sun wraps us in unbearable heat, I’ve watched children of contradiction come together for the unity of the Holy City.
South Carolina, nine members of your family are now in heaven and you have to confront the reality of racism, the dusk of pain, the lightlessness of the dawn. Because I would rather hang a black cloth on a flag pole than give the Confederate flag another glimpse of the sun.
