Romella Kitchens (Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania)
Cobblestones and red bricks.
Orphaned branches brushing our arms.
When I was little, going
to the candy store in our
neighborhood meant everything.
It was owned by a very light skinned
Black man named “Mr. Mack.”
He told jokes. He was kind. He was laughter.
He folded the top of the little brown
bags down as if there was gold inside.
This was where I practiced saying,
“Thank you” and “Please.”
He took phone calls from mother’s
anxious to know, did we count our own
money? Did we check our change? Were we
Ju-ju beans, Mary Janes, Charms lollipops,
Toostsie rolls, fu-man chu gum, ice cream
and soda pop, orange juice, milk
the race home smiling, holding hands.
As a child, I felt spiritual, knew spiritual.
As an adult, all we have to do is maintain it.
Romella Kitchens's Other Poems
- A Walk In The Cemetery -new-
- AKA: The Brief Season
- Beautiful Are The People Of India: 1961
- Beautiful Are The People Of India: Poem ...
- Broken-Hearted Blues
- Brown Sugar Babies
- 'Comments 0n Existence'
- Due To You: The Litany
- How i Used 2 Write When i Wuz Young
- It Is All Etched In Crayola
- La Luna Di Donne Sagge (The Moon Of Wise...
- La Tombre Sin Nombre
- Letter To The Aging -new-
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.