When I Walked Thru the Door
Intercession, the way the old black women used to do it, with moaning and groans, well that takes me back to my childhood. All night long walking the floor and tears streaming down eyes are testaments to a mother’s love.
When I walked thru the door
I knew they didn’t prayed like that, anymore
No, not like the old time sistahs
with the “Guide me O’ thou Great
Jehovah,
Pilgrim thru this barren land”
The old wizened one
would lead out
and our voices would struggle
behind hers with our load
(heavy like bags of cotton)
which we had every attention of
laying on the altar
When I walked thru the door
I knew they didn’t pray like that,
anymore
None of that getting happy
or shouting allowed
All of that was frowned on
in this ‘siddity’ crowd
But if I could just hear them pray
one more time
them groaning and moaning
talking to their Lord and mine
Lips a-trembling,
she stand up and say
“I may not pass this way again;
My bed may be my cooling board.”
Fingers gripping the bench,
she leaned forward
Her voice deepened and lowered
“Soon one morning
when Death come a-creeping in my room,
O’ my Lord what will I do?”
When I walked out the door,
I wondered why we didn’t pray
that way anymore.