teach me to pray
with my feet.
The steps of the ancestors were sturdy and strong.
They somehow carried them to cut down strange fruit
dangling in the breeze.
Up and down Montgomery’s hills,
To mass meetings, lunch counters, and courthouses
To face canines, tear gas, and water hoses
As bullets and bombs wrought martyrs,
Their blood still crying out from the deep.
teach me to pray with my feet.
For those felled while adorned with hoodie, for those who still can’t breathe, for those whose hearts have been broken under the weight of fathers suffocated on the street,
with hands raised,
For Water Protectors,
For Hijab-wearing Sisters and their Brothers,
For the Dreamers,
LORD God Almighty,
teach me how to pray
with my feet,
That I might become a drum major for justice,
To march around Jericho’s walls
And monuments to White Supremacy,
Till they come stumbling down;
That I might say,
As did Mother Pollard to young Martin,
“My feets is tired, but my soul is rested.”
And that You, LORD God almighty,
May one day say to me,
“You have beautiful feet.”