Reading Over My Black History Class Notebook
Amy Lipman
Out With Mark
As you ate your cherry pie that
Nobody wanted you to have because
You are a big boy now, and
Need to have muscles and stretch your legs
You smiled and laughed and your river of numbers
Was relieved by a dam, our father's hand
Grandma whispered right past your nose
That you are a tragedy, oh what a shame
I boiled He is still with us, knows how to smile
Disappointed, young widow, grey mother
Just keep quiet and
Love your grandson
His gated bank of sin,
All sweet submergence
Trapped under brown eyes
Big hands and chains
Sweet Tongues
Why would you try
To teach someone French
In a place far from Paris
Where they don't serve up spit
With their tongue or lips
Those people were born wrapped in sugar
It storms, she misspoke
She made something pretty
The woman in red says "make something real"
She'll rip out her tongue and
Tie it to the train tracks and
Laugh,
And she'll
Laugh
Over mispronunciations
Why would you try to teach someone something
They'll never use outside of your mouth
They'll walk the same way as their arms always told them
Without all our words we are unkind physics
I have been lucky
I learn new words from him
Born of his mouth
Rise up in mine
The woman in red at the cafe I eat at
Was pretty enough but she's never been kissed
I know that because I asked her with looks
And she couldn't look back
And she couldn't laugh
