Star Holes Where the White Gleam Used to Be

Preface to a Twenty Volume Suicide Note - LeRoi Jones (Amiri Baraka)
(For Kellie Jones, born 16 May 1959)

Lately, I've become accustomed to the way
The ground opens up and envelops me
Each time I go out to walk the dog.
Or the broad-edged silly music the wind
Makes when I run for a bus...

Things have come to that.

And now, each night I count the stars,
And each night I get the same number.
And when they will not come to be counted,
I count the holes they leave.

Nobody sings anymore.

And then last night, I tiptoed up
To my daughter's room and heard her
Talking to someone, and when I opened
The door, there was no one there...
Only she on her knees, peeking into

Her own clasped hands.

This is one of my favorite poems. It has a tone of hopelessness. What is it about the blues or sad poetry that attracts us? It must be the emotions that resonate with like chords within us. How many times has "hope unborn" died? I've been singing "a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught" me. I'm ready to "sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought me."