Toi Derricotte Poems
|1.||from Burial Sites||6/26/2015|
|2.||Black Boys Play the Classics||7/3/2015|
|3.||A Note On My Son's Face||1/7/2015|
|4.||Elegy For My Husband||1/29/2015|
|5.||For Black Women Who Are Afraid||1/9/2015|
|7.||From A Letter: About Snow||12/19/2011|
That time my grandmother dragged me
through the perfume aisles at Saks, she held me up
by my arm, hissing, "Stand up,"
through clenched teeth, her eyes
bright as a dog's
cornered in the light.
She said it over and over,
as if she were Jesus,
and I were dead.She had been
solid as a tree,
a fur around her neck, a
light-skinned matron whose car was parked, who walked
marble and passed through
brass openings--in 1945.
There was not even a black
elevator operator at Saks.
The saleswoman had brought velvet
leggings to lace ...