My hope is that this poem will encourage, inspire and uplift all those who hear and read it to keep pushing and never give up.


you do it for me every time,

melanated children of God

with skin like shining bronze,


your hair stands proud and tall

like freshly baked muffins

rising under a moonlit sky,


your teeth like rows of handpicked pearls

coated in glory,

even when one goes missing


you are the darling of excellence

and the kitchen beautician,

the bringer of peace

and war’s ammunition,


cream of the crop

and servant of the field

i see you in everything

creator of cool,

the inventor of bling,


they force you into concrete cells

with reinforced steel bars

to drudge in their prison mills

for $15.00 a day


your children miss you

they ask their mother

why you’ve gone away

but she say, you’ll be back soon


lies told to young responsive ears

ready to receive good news

but i see you,

descendant of slaves and kings

rolled all into one


your people labored

underneath the hot, southern, plantation sun

robbed of your African identity

and denied monies owed


paying the price

of being the oppressed,

whose identity is bought and sold

but your children are breaking free


like seashells taken to the deep

by the tide’s wave

your people sparked the American Revolution

when Crispus Attucks died brave


you built a country

that you have never been equipped to call home

stolen from your family

and all you own


the salt of your tears

marked by blood and bone


still, I see you

as your community

is lulled to silence

by siren cries

and officer that points

the gun at you

does so with lifeless eyes


but you prevail

like a mighty oak tree

digging your roots ever deeper

so that your traditions will carve a path

for your people

in a frightfully chilled world


snuggled in my heart’s bedrock

i can feel the dominion of my mother’s arms

as she rocked me to sleep

singing songs of orange day break

and black jubilee


a life more abundant

calls for you and me

no matter how hard,

the wind may blow:

hail, fog or tornado


you make me believe

we are a divine people

forged from Saturn’s ring

the residue of Malcolm’s struggle

and the hope of Martian’s dreams


we are anger and love

birthed from stardust and moonbeams

we are the boxer

that practiced for centuries

waging an enduring match


with solace in our aching brows

and sweat on our broad backs

yet we keep on fighting

and you do it for me every time…


By: Esha Montgomery

This video was edited by Kilah Mihi, please check out her YouTube channel. Boxer is a poem from my book Past Chains. I love ya’ll peace.


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