Night Riders

Night Riders

In the Deep South
if you are black
The Klansmen are
always coming.
Sure they are gone
But memories still live.
At New Year mama
Would count the dead
Giving each one
Remembrance.
She would
melt away the years.
As many as
leaves in the fall.
And demons rode again.
All her life she lived
In servitude and fear.
Pretending it was manners
But I knew the difference.
We celebrated
every occasion
As though
it was to be our last.
After all
Was that the
thundering of hooves
in the silent dark night?