–George Armwood, lynched

in Princess Anne, 1933

Someone had to see the beautiful darkness

of night passing in silence overhead and still 

reach for the rope. Someone had to find him, 

scared and shivering, barely beyond

boyhood, beneath the bed and see nothing 

but weakness. Someone had to wrench him free

as his fingers fought to hold the bed frame. Someone had to

place the noose around his neck before dragging him 

to face the crowd. Someone had to tie that noose. Someone 

had to bloody his body in the autumn-dead 

corn stalks, had to pull his ears from his head 

to scream sour their hatred. Someone had to 

cut both his ears off, had to point his head 

towards the tree they would be hanging him from, as if bringing

his body to prayer. Someone had to draw him up, feeling the rope

burn in their fingers, had to watch him 

jerk through the violent air as if treading

water in an absence of water. Someone had to bring his body 

to flame, making him, for that moment, the brightest star

in the October sky. Someone had to extinguish him

so they could give him another

piece of their mind. Someone had to hear the rope snap

as they cut him from the branches,

had to feel the melted skin loosen as they pulled 

him loose from the noose. Someone had to sleep soundly 

in their bed that night. Someone had to sleep 

in the trees. Someone had to wash his blood

from their stained palms, watching the last of him 

drain, whispering 

the only lie

that would let them

shut their eyes. Someone
                            had to. Someone had to.