The Erasure of Black History

Explore the fleeting histories of Johns Island through poems, stories, and photos

Reflections on Hebron

Je’an Moore 

Forgive me.

I have already forgotten

your name. That smile though,

I’ve decided to write a poem about.

Skin like wet earth 

Gleaming and dark.

Teeth like porcelain trppezoids.

Wide grin.

Wide like I can’t understand.

You are being eaten

 you tell us.

Swaalowd up by summer

 Homes and condos

I feel the teeth too.

The land is barren.

My mother’s tongue is fleeting.

White boys on golf carts

Roam the dirt roads I walked barefoot

Stare like I'm in the wrong place.

Young woman crouched above the decaying body of a fawn. She is facing an old white church surrounded by granite head stones and vibrant grass.