{This is a poem-tribute to Elijah Cummings, a longtime U.S. representative of the Baltimore, Maryland area, who lies in state in the US Capitol’s rotunda today.
For those who are unfamiliar with US politics, Rep. Cummings was a frequent critic of the current president (who did not hesitate to criticize him right back.) With Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi, Cummings has been instrumental, in recent months, in planning strategy for the impeachment investigation (even from his hospital bed, according to one article.)
Though many, on the “right” side of the political spectrum, disliked and harshly criticized him and his politics in life, the nation now comes together, as it should, to mourn his loss and send our prayers and condolences to his family.
Forgive any factual inaccuracies I may have included, in pursuit of my poem’s purpose. I have not done a thorough biographical search, but work only from what is commonly reported. I also use some common associations (ie cotton with slavery) for effect, although I am not aware of any actual association with cotton farming. I hope my mistakes give no offence.
I give credit to the Reverend Al Sharpton, who mentioned, in relation to Rep. Cummings. on Morning Joe this morning (MSNBC,) that a man is remembered not for his deeds, but for the distance he has traveled in his life. I have built this poem on that concept. I hope, that we, as human beings and as a Republic, will continue to diligently pursue our ideals of Freedom and Equality, for many generations to come.
My condolences to the family, who must suffer his loss most terribly.}
Top representative,
Sharecropper’s son,
Face-up in our nation’s rotunda,
What would your kin give,
To do, what you’ve done?
Quick-mending a land, torn asunder.
Today, men will speechify,
Women will weep,
And candidates, reap many votes.
But what of your daddy,
Who dances with angels,
A cotton boll, wound round his throat?
They say, men are judged
Never by what they’ve done,
But the distance they’ve come in their lives.
What a chasm you’ve crossed!
What a desert! Alone,
Bedeviled, by insults and jibes.
How the hue of your skin
Hearkens back, to the slaves
That once laid the foundation, beneath.
Generations are few,
In between them and you,
And their progress is yours, to bequeath.
Elder statesman, whose labors
Bring presidents, pastors,
Pelosi, political hacks:
You were helping your neighbors,
Your borough, insulted
By him, whom you dared to attack.
Let us plow, with persistence;
Know well, that our forefathers
Broke this same ground, where we stand;
Lest we till it, each day,
Freedom withers away,
And we enter the realm of the damned:
Our Republic, buried in sand.
Copyright 2019 Andrea LeDew
I appreciated both the poem and the thoughtful comments that followed it.
Thanks Liz!
You’re welcome, Andrea!
“How the hue of your skin
Hearkens back, to the slaves
That once laid the foundation, beneath.”
The lines above made me curious about who actually built the capitol. Whitehousehistory.org sums things up this way:
“The D.C. commissioners, charged by Congress with building the new city under the direction of the president, initially planned to import workers from Europe to meet their labor needs. However, response to recruitment was dismal and soon they turned to African Americans—both enslaved and free—to provide the bulk of labor that built the White House, the United States Capitol, and other early government buildings.
Stonemason Collen Williamson trained enslaved people on the spot at the government’s quarry at Aquia, Virginia. Enslaved people quarried and cut the rough stone that was later dressed and laid by Scottish masons to erect the walls of the President’s House. The slaves joined a work force that included local white laborers and artisans from Maryland and Virginia, as well as immigrants from Ireland, Scotland, and other European nations.”
Terrific poem, Andrea. I’m afraid there’s much truth in the lines:
“Lest we till it, each day,
Freedom withers away”
Thank you so much for such a fine and well-researched comment, Brad!
I only knew about slaves having helped to build the White House, from watching the John Adams miniseries by HBO. There is an episode that shows the second president moving into the residence while, all around, slaves are working to complete the structure.
John and Abigail lament about how enlisting slaves to do the work offends their abolitionist sensibilities, but, as I recall, they do not forbid it.
It gives me no pleasure, believe me, to point out how fragile our freedoms are. Thanks again for the close read.