Men
When I was young,
I used
Watch behind the
As men walked up and down the street.
Wino men, old men.
Young men sharp as mustard.
See them.
Men are
Going somewhere.
They knew I was there.
Years old and starving for them.
Under my window, they would pauses,
Their shoulders high like
Breasts of a young girl,
Jacket tails slapping
Those behinds,
Men.
One day they hold you in
Palms of their hands, gentle, as if
Were the last raw egg in the world.
They tighten up.
Just a little.
First squeeze is nice.
A quick hug.
Soft into your defenselessness.
A
More.
The hurt begins.
Wrench out
Smile that slides around the fear.
When
Air disappears,
Your mind pops, exploding fiercely, briefly,
Like the head of a kitchen match.
Shattered.
It is your
That runs down their legs.
Staining their shoes.
When the earth rights itself again,
And taste tries to return to the tongue,
Your body has slammed shut.
Forever.
No keys exist.
Then the window draws full
Your mind.
There, just
The sway of curtains, men walk.
Knowing something.
Going someplace.
But this time,
I will
Stand and watch.
Maybe.
Maya Angelou
Другие работы автора
Million Man March Poem
The night has been long, The wound has been deep, The pit has been dark, And the walls have been steep
Touched By An Angel
We, unaccustomed to courageexiles from delightlive coiled in shells of lonelinessuntil love leaves its high holy templeand comes into our sightto liberate us into life Love arrivesand in its train come ecstasiesold memories of pleasureancient...
Remembrance
Your hands easyweight, teasing the beeshived in my hair, your smile at theslope of my cheek On theoccasion, you pressabove me, glowing, spoutingreadiness, mystery rapesmy When you have withdrawnyour self and the magic, whenonly the smell...
Momma Welfare Roll
Her arms semaphore fat triangles, Pudgy hands bunched on layered Where bones idle under years of And lima beans
