Happy Poetry Thursday!
I've been trying to write a poem about this incident for a while. It's still not there yet, so I'm considering the poem a bonafide first draft. In order for the poem to go where I need it to go, I have to push it there--and I'm not ready to do that yet. So for now, here it is and know that I will post a revision of it for NaPoWriMo.
Looking forward to reading all of your wonderful poems this week.
“How Did You Turn Out So Well?”
When she said it, it was the proverbial
July 4 party, husband’s birthday,
we had been talking about Ebonics
becoming a second language,
and why so many black kids fail in school.
With just a few simple words
she opens my attic door that old hurt,
the intractable sadness that rises in me
like a bad moon, to reflect back to me
in the face of a friend I’ve known for years.
The conversation leans in,
takes a sip of the stiff drink,
tries to keep its composure
in the wake of its ransacked heart.
How can I blame her for speaking what she thinks,
and for the answer she thinks she deserves?
I do what so many of us have done for generations:
hide my displeasure in pockets of silence,
even though her blue eyes and blond architecture
keep asking the same question
I’ve asked myself every day of my