sassafrass wished on flowers/ the flight patterns of birds/ the angle of leaves fallin/ & swore to bring the old ways back/ old spirits & their children & any new-fandangled kinda mystic aids that was demonstrated by circumstances. sassafrass stopped hangin round by the wharf & started hangin round the old folks at the church & bars in skinny streets/ learnin how to fix up sick folks/ & spells that so-&-so’s granny used ta murder whoever. & she layed up nights readin’ histories of ancient civilizations that were closer to her than all that stuff abt england & the wars of the roses.
she wrote songs of love & vindication for all the african & indian deities disgraced by the comin of the white man/ & loss of land/ & cities reflectin’ respect for livin’ things.

“i am sassafrass/ my fingers behold you

i call upon you with my song you teach

me in my sleep/ i am not a besieger of yr

fortress/ i am a crusader/ for you are

all my past/ i offer you my body to

make manifest yr will in this dungeon

of machines & carolina blues/ i wanna

sing yr joy/ & make present our beauty/

spirits/ black & brown/ find yr way

thru my tainted blood/ make me one of

yr own/ i am yr child in the new world/

i am yr fruit/ yet to be chosen for

a single battle in yr behalf/ come to

& thru me/ i am dazzled by yr beneficence

i shall create new altars/ new praises

& be ancient among you/”

Before reaching the door, Cypress opened up a large stained-glass box and pulled out four finely embroidered pieces of cloth.

“Hey, Miz Weaver . . . Sassafrass. These are my inheritances for some children I don’t have yet.”

Sassafrass looked over, and saw blocks of minute figures and arrows and circles in different colors. Cypress became terribly excited while she explained that each of the cloths was a complete notation of a dance developed from her own experiences in The Kushites Returned. Sassafrass checked that the stitches were even and the designs exceedingly intricate.

“Cypress, if the white folks knew you were doin’ this, they’d steal all of it and put it in a museum!”

Cypress was wallowing in Sassafrass’ appreciative statement when she recalled what their mama had said: “Whatever ideas you have that’re important to you, write down . . . but write them so your enemies can’t understand them right off.” Feeling triumphant, Sassafrass and Cypress did the time step down Fulton Street.