
By Michael Judge
I’m listening to Aretha Franklin on a rainy April morning, awaiting the thunder storms due to arrive later in the day. Earlier, while taking my son to school, the man on the radio told me it was the 55th anniversary of the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr.’s assassination. Aretha’s singing “Ain’t Know Way,” and I’m thinking about that heartbreaking photo (see above) of Coretta Scott King and her daughter Bernice in her arms at her husband’s funeral four days after that terrible April evening at the Lorraine Motel in Memphis, Tennessee. I wrote the poem below five years ago, on the 50th anniversary of Coretta losing her husband, and Bernice and her sister and brothers losing their…
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