To My Grandfather, Who Voted with Guns
By
Chavonn Williams Shen
My grandfather kept a shotgun in his pickup truck.
In case of emergencies, he told my dad.
To fight off the Klan, my dad told me.
My grandfather had driven all through Pike County,
Through Magnolia, McComb, Tylertown, Mississippi
To collect votes from Black folks and deliver their ballots to the polls
So they wouldn’t have to go there themselves.
This was in the ‘60s, when Black suffrage meant Black suffering.
Those who broke their rules swung with the north wind,
Their feet hovered above the earth, a example for others who might try.
He’d walk into the polls, gun in one hand, ballot box in the other.
The staff was always surprised a Negro was so determined
knowing they'd throw those ballots out.
Just for practice, he’d say, as he returned to his truck.
In case of emergencies, he told my dad.
To fight off the Klan, my dad told me.
My grandfather had driven all through Pike County,
Through Magnolia, McComb, Tylertown, Mississippi
To collect votes from Black folks and deliver their ballots to the polls
So they wouldn’t have to go there themselves.
This was in the ‘60s, when Black suffrage meant Black suffering.
Those who broke their rules swung with the north wind,
Their feet hovered above the earth, a example for others who might try.
He’d walk into the polls, gun in one hand, ballot box in the other.
The staff was always surprised a Negro was so determined
knowing they'd throw those ballots out.
Just for practice, he’d say, as he returned to his truck.