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After funerals, everyone goes berserk: In St. Anne De Bow-Pray on our knees praying the prayer on the sign on each step. The alter is a mountain of braces and crutches thrown away by the healed people. Daddy lets us stop at the restaurant. I ask Mommy if they have French food. Green cheese? The waitress asks. Green cheese? The big hotel room is all fringes patterns, textures, carved tables and chairs. I think The chambermaid picks up my Tiny Tears doll. She wears a uniform like in the movies and asks me questions in French. I understand exactly what she is saying, but I’m not sure how to answer. I look at my mother who smiles and says go on. . . On our way out of town Dad stops for gas; one giant, squeaky balloon, free, with a fill-up. Mommy, can you tell me what to say: Uh baa-luh-see-vou-play. The balloon shrivels before the next bathroom stop. Uh-baa-luh-see-vou-play. The Bridge Poem I’ve had enough I’m sick of seeing and touching Both sides of things Sick of being the damn bridge for everybody Nobody Can talk to anybody Without me Right? I explain my mother to my father my father to my little sister My little sister to my brother my brother to the white feminists The white feminists to the Black church folks the Black church folks to the ex-hippies the ex-hippies to the Black separatists the Black separatists to the artists the artists to my friends’ parents… Then I’ve got to explain myself To everybody I do more translating Than the Gawdamn U.N. Forget it I’m sick of it. I’m sick of filling in your gaps Sick of being your insurance against the isolation of your self-imposed limitations Sick of being the crazy at your holiday dinners Sick of being the odd one at your Sunday Brunches Sick of being the sole Black friend to 34 individual white people Find another connection to the rest of the world Find something else to make you legitimate Find some other way to be political and hip I will not be the bridge to your womanhood Your manhood Your humanness I’m sick of reminding you not to Close off too tight for too long I’m sick of mediating with your worst self On behalf of your better selves I am sick Of having to remind you To breathe Before you suffocate Your own fool self Forget it Stretch or drown Evolve or die The bridge I must be Is the bridge to my own power I must translate My own fears Mediate My own weaknesses I must be the bridge to nowhere But my true self And then I will be useful |
| Copyright
2009 Kate |