The Magnolia and the Lotus: A Tribute to Lady Day

A childhood saturated in darkness 

Like roots of a lotus – submerged in the torment

Of the Baltimore mud, where Eleanora's likeness

Grew alone at nine, in juvenile court. 

Her still un-flourished petals arising

From within murky waters – crackling

Music filled her room, ephemerally

Unshackled by the mire of prejudice, freely –

In the Grey Dawn a voice and style so rare

With each note sung she loosed Jim Crow’s chains

From Eleanora Fagan to Billie – on stage, there –

The lotus lilting through  undeserved shame.

A burnished beauty – that lush magnolia her hair –

Her voice a seed planted, an undying heir.