Shinny record albums scattered over the living-room floor, reflecting light from the lamp, sharp reflections that hurt my eyes as I watch you, squatting among the platters, the beer foam making mustaches on your lips.
And, too,
the shadows on your cheeks from your long lashes fascinate me-almost as much as the dimples: in your cheeks, your arms and your legs:
dimples…dimples…dimples…
You
hum along with Mathis-how you love Mathis !
Tapped to the wall of my cell are 47 pictures: 47 black faces: my father, mother, grandmothers (1dead), grandfathers (both dead), brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, cousins (1st & 2nd), nieces, and nephews. They stare across the space at me sprawling on my bunk. I know their dark eyes, they know mine. I am all of them, they are all of me; they are farmers, I am a thief, I am me, they are thee.
learn moreand yeah, brothers,
while white/America sings about the unsink
able molly brown
(who was hustling the titanic
when it went down)
I sing to thee of Shine
the stoker who was hip
enough to flee the fucking ship
and let the white folks drown
with screams on their lips
(jumped his black ass into the dark sea, Shine did, broke free from the straining steel.)
yeah, I sing of Shine
and how the millionaire banker stood on the deck
and pulled from his pocket a million dollar check
saying Shine Shine save poor me
and I’ll give all the money a black boy needs-
