Prayer for Harold Washington By SAUNDRA SHARP

I fear for you,

Harold Washington.

In the fleeting moments

between the phone and

taking laundry from the dryer

I feel a sharp pain of fear for you.

And though I am not given to praying.

I pray for you.

I fear for you,

Harold Washington.

Miss my exit from the freeway

because I hear my grandmother singing

Were You There? when they crucified

And though I am not given to praying,

I pray for you.

Like red-lined property,

the value of your life

depreciated sharply

when you dared move

into a new neighborhood.

You are among the numbered now

You are among the chosen and the damned

And I feel powerless to protect you

feel powerless to protect you.

It is an angry prayer

I must now fear for you

the same as my mother,

and her mother

and hers drew

a breath of fear

with every breath of love.

But fear,

they say,

is a weakening process

so I clench my fist

polish my gun

carry Malcolm in my purse

yet

check my black veiled hat

in the closet

and finding nothing else to do

I pray for you.

But my sweet jesus, my allah,

pretty buddha,

my rah

jah! jah!

jah!

It is my fear that talks for me,

and I mask it in my prayer,

My every moment prayer for you,

Harold Washington.

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