Liberian Literary Magazine
February Issue 0215
Sometimes I think that nothing really
changes—
and touch it on its flank,
and I don’t w atch all that much
Masterpiece Theatre,
but I could feel the end of an era there
The young girls show the latest crop of
tummies,
and the new president prov es that he’s a
dummy.
in front of those bleachers full of people
in their Sunday tennis-w atching clothes
But remember the tennis match w e
w atched that year?
Right before our eyes
as that black girl w ore dow n her opponent
then kicked her ass good
then thumped her once more for good
measure
some tough little European blonde
pitted against that big black girl from
Alabama,
cornrow ed hair and Zulu bangles on her
arms,
some outrageous name like Vondella
Aphrodite—
and stood up on the red clay court
holding her racket ov er her head like a
guitar.
And the little pink judge
had to climb up on a box
to put the ribbon on her neck,
still managing to smile into the camera flash,
ev en though ev erything w as changing
We w ere just w alking past the lounge
and got sucked in by the screen abov e the
bar,
and pretty soon
w e started to care about w ho w on,
and in fact, ev erything had already
changed—
putting ourselves into each w hacked return
as the v olleys w ent back and forth and
back
like some contest betw een
the old w orld and the new ,
Poof, remember? I t w as the tw entieth
century almost gone,
w e w ere there,
and w hen w e w ent to put it back w here it
belonged,
it w as past us
and w e w ere changed.
and you lov ed her complicated hair
and her to-hell-w ith-ev erybody stare,
and I ,
I couldn’t help w anting
the w hite girl to come out on top,
because she w as one of my kind, my tribe,
w ith her pale eyes and thin lips
Ka 'Ba
and because the black girl w as so big
and so black,
so unintimidated,
Imamu Amiri Baraka
hitting the ball like she w as driv ing the
Emancipation Proclamation
dow n Abraham Lincoln’s throat,
like she w asn’t asking anyone’s permission.
A closed w indow looks dow n
on a dirty courtyard, and black people
call across or scream or w alk across
defying physics in the stream of their w ill
There are moments w hen history
passes you so close
you can smell its breath,
you can reach your hand out
Our w orld is full of sound
Our w orld is more lov ely than anyone's
tho w e suffer, and kill each other
and sometimes fail to w alk the air
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