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P. 35

August 18, 2019


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          ⬤ March          , 1770: Crispus Attucks, a fugitive from slavery who works as dockworker,



          becomes the first       American to die for the cause of independence after being shot in



              a clash with British troops.

































                        African & Natick blood-born                          tore his chest, blood reddening snow
                             known along paths up & down                          on King Street, March 5, 1770,

                                Boston Harbor, escaped slave,                       first to fall on captain’s command.

                        harpooner & rope maker,                              Five colonists lay for calling hours


                             he never   dreamt a pursuit of happiness             in Faneuil Hall before sharing a grave


                                or destiny,   yet rallied                           at the Granary Burying Ground.

                        beside patriots who hurled a fury                    They had laid a foundering stone

                             of snowballs, craggy   dirt-frozen                   for   the Minutemen at Lexington


                                chunks of ice, & oyster   shells                    & Concord, first to defy & die,
                        at the stout flank of
        Archives. Attucks: Getty Images.           as the 29th Regiment of   Foot  fire!        the courtroom as John   Adams
                                        redcoats,
                                                                             & an echo of the future rose over
                               aimed muskets, waiting for

                                                                                    defended the Brits, calling the dead
                        How often had he walked, gazing
                                                                               a ‘‘motley rabble of saucy boys,


                                     timbers of the wharf,
                              down at gray
                                                                                  negroes & mulattoes, Irish
                                 as if to find a lost copper coin?
                                                                                teagues & outlandish jacktars,’’
       Boston Massacre: National   Wind deviled cold air as he stood         who made soldiers fear for their lives,
                             leaning on his hardwood stick,



                                                                                  & at day’s end only
                                                                                               two would pay

                               & then two lead bullets
                                                                                    with the branding of their thumbs.
          By Yusef
                       Komunyakaa
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