Classic Poem

There are veins in my body, Fenton Johnson —
veins that sway and dance because of blood that is red;
there are veins in your body, Fenton Johnson —
veins that sway and dance because of blood that is red.
Let a master prick me with his pin —
the bubble of blood shows red.
Let a master prick you with his pin —
the bubble of blood shows red.
Let a woman love me,
let a woman love you —
the blood that rises is red.
Let my gray eye turn to yours,
let your brown eye turn to mine —
the bubble behind them is red.
Let my skin wrinkle to a grin,
let your skin wrinkle to a grin —
red blood inspired the wrinkles.
Let me think of a spirit,
let you think of a spirit —
bodies that nourished the thought are red.
Let me think of loving you,
let you think of loving me —
hearts that nourished the thought are red.
Let me say it as well — why shouldn't I? —
let you say it as well — why shouldn't you? —
the tongues that say it are red.
Let me sing you a song — is it foolish? —
let you sing me a song — is it foolish? —
songs and singers are red.
Let us go arm in arm down State Street —
let them cry, the easily horrified:
" Gods of our fathers,
look at the white man chumming with the black man!"
Let us nudge each other, you and I,
without humility or defiance:
" We are red," let us answer!