I can’t show you what I want to show you
But I can tell you what I saw
In a little family graveyard splintered with new spring grass
And little bits of moon on the ground scattered
Like a lit mirror shattered on somebody grandma’s
Brand new carpet slid beneath
That old living room furniture
Looking brand new with the plastic still on it.
I saw it,
I saw her
Out there in that field with all them dead folk.
Just skippin’ ‘round like she was home
Just as happy seeming, like she wasn’t alone
Wasn’t but about four or five
With cute plaits in her head
And a little dress on
The Easter Sunday kind
With sprinkles of moon all over it
Out there in the dark
Just picking flowers
Had to be daffodils
Just growing right there among all them dead folk
And there she was just fanin’ that dress
And snatching them flowers up out’ the ground
Like they was handin’ them to her.
Like she was receiving gifts from all them dead folk
Just beyon her stood a line of huge live oaks
Just stretching out their big ole arms like
They were protecting her.
Not from the night or the dead
But protecting just the same
The Spanish moss hung like the sleeves of a preacher’s robe
Raised up high and mighty over all them dead folk
She paused for and seemed to look my way
I stared back like she saw me from a TV screen
That I couldn’t turn off
Then she went right on back to doing what she was doing
Like nothing was gon’ stop her at all
Not time, not beggin’, not hopin’
Out there in that field under the moonlight
With all them dead folk.
Notes of A Native Son 