18278, carolyn rodgers (an all-time favorite) Posted by rgv, Sat Feb-04-06 05:14 PM
It Is Deep (don't never forget the bridge that you crossed over on)
Having tried to use the witch cord that erases the stretch of thirty-three blocks and tuning in the voice which woodenly stated that the talk box was "disconnected"
My mother, religiously girdled in her god, slipped on some love, and laid on my bell like a truck, blew through my door warm wind from the south concern making her gruff and tight-lipped and scared that her "baby" was starving. she, having learned, that disconnection results from non-payment of bill (s).
She did not recognize the poster of the grand le-roi (al) cat on the wall had never even seen the books of Black poems that I have written thinks that I am under the influence of **communists** when I talk about Black as anything other than something ugly to kill it befo it grows in any impression she would not be considered "relevant" or "Black" but there she was, standing in my room not loudly condemning that day and not remembering that I grew hearing her curse the factory where she "cut uh slave" and the cheap j-boss wouldn't allow a union, not remembering that I heard the tears when they told her a high school diploma was not enough, and here now, not able to understand, what she had been forced to deny, still--
she pushed into my kitchen so she could open my refrigerator to see what I had to eat, and pressed fifty bills in my hand saying "pay the talk bill and buy some food; you got folks who care about you . . ."
My mother, religious-negro, proud of having waded through a storm, is very obviously, a sturdy Black bridge that I crossed over, on.
|