Mass Choir

Isaac Murphy

The sound of a race is music but like nothing with

strings or words. You’d need a hundred men with

hammers and women stepping Juba but with both

hands making the body a drum like in “Hambone.”

Closest thing to it I can imagine would be a whole army

marching in step and singing something like

“The Colored Volunteer” while you listen with your head

inside one of the drums.

Or a large congregation of hands and feet clapping

and stomping together real slow and even in the beginning

and then steadily speeding up but not losing the rhythm

until the whole church is clapping and stomping as fast

as they can and sweat is dripping off their heads and necks

and they all feel like their hearts might bust wide open

but they keep on going faster

and faster and faster until it feels like God takes over

or a spirit comes down and you are no longer in charge,

just along for the ride.

Notes:

“Mass Choir” is reprinted from Isaac Murphy: I Dedicate This Ride (Old Cove Press, 2010) and is part of the folio “Frank X Walker: Kinfolk.” Read the rest of the folio in the January/February 2026 issue of Poetry.

Source: Poetry (January/February 2026)