ALSOBYJACQUELINEWOODSON
LastSummerwithMaizon
TheDearOne
MaizonatBlueHill
BetweenMadisonandPalmetto
IHadn’tMeanttoTellYouThis
FromtheNotebooksofMelaninSun
TheHouseYouPassontheWay
IfYouComeSoftly
Lena
Miracle’sBoys
Hush
Locomotion
BehindYou
Feathers
AfterTupacandDFoster
Peace,Locomotion
BeneathaMethMoon
NANCYPAU LSENBOOKS
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“Dreams,”and“Poem[2]”fromTHECOLLECTEDPOEM SOFLANGSTONHU GHESbyLangstonHughes,editedbyArnoldRampersadwithDavidRoessel,
AssociateEditor,copyright©1994bytheEstateofLangstonHughes.UsedbypermissionofAlfredA.Knopf,animprintoftheKnopf
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Incorporated.
“Twistin’theNightAway”writtenbySamCooke.PublishedbyABKCOMusic,Inc.Usedbypermission.Allrightsreserved.
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ISBN978-0-698-19570-7
Version_1
Thisbookisformyfamily—past,presentandfuture.
Withlove.
CONTENTS
familytree
PARTI
iamborn
PARTII
thestoriesofsouthcarolinarunlikerivers
PARTIII
followedthesky’smirroredconstellationtofreedom
PARTIV
deepinmyheart,idobelieve
PARTV
readytochangetheworld
author’snote
thankfuls
familyphotos
Holdfasttodreams
Forifdreamsdie
Lifeisabroken-wingedbird
Thatcannotfly.
Holdfasttodreams
Forwhendreamsgo
Lifeisabarrenfield
Frozenwithsnow.
—LangstonHughes
february12,1963
IambornonaTuesdayatUniversityHospital
Columbus,Ohio,
USA—
acountrycaught
betweenBlackandWhite.
Iambornnotlongfromthetime
orfarfromtheplace
where
mygreat-great-grandparents
workedthedeeprichland
unfree
dawntilldusk
unpaid
drankcoolwaterfromscooped-outgourds
lookedupandfollowed
thesky’smirroredconstellation
tofreedom.
IambornastheSouthexplodes,
toomanypeopletoomanyyears
enslaved,thenemancipated
butnotfree,thepeople
wholooklikeme
keepfighting
andmarching
andgettingkilled
sothattoday—
February12,1963
andeverydayfromthismomenton,
brownchildrenlikemecangrowup
free.Cangrowup
learningandvotingandwalkingandriding
whereverwewant.
IamborninOhiobut
thestoriesofSouthCarolinaalreadyrun
likerivers
throughmyveins.
seconddaughter’sseconddayonearth
Mybirthcertificatesays:FemaleNegro
Mother:MaryAnneIrby,22,Negro
Father:JackAustinWoodson,25,Negro
InBirmingham,Alabama,MartinLutherKingJr.
isplanningamarchonWashington,where
JohnF.Kennedyispresident.
InHarlem,MalcolmXisstandingonasoapbox
talkingaboutarevolution.
OutsidethewindowofUniversityHospital,
snowisslowlyfalling.Somuchalready
coversthisvastOhioground.
InMontgomery,onlysevenyearshavepassed
sinceRosaParksrefused
togiveup
herseatonacitybus.
Iambornbrown-skinned,black-haired
andwide-eyed.
IambornNegrohereandColoredthere
andsomewhereelse,
theFreedomSingershavelinkedarms,
theirprotestsrisingintosong:
Deepinmyheart,Idobelieve
thatweshallovercomesomeday.
andsomewhereelse,JamesBaldwin
iswritingaboutinjustice,eachnovel,
eachessay,changingtheworld.
IdonotyetknowwhoI’llbe
whatI’llsay
howI’llsayit...
Noteventhreeyearshavepassedsinceabrowngirl
namedRubyBridges
walkedintoanall-whiteschool.
Armedguardssurroundedherwhilehundreds
ofwhitepeoplespatandcalledhernames.
Shewassixyearsold.
IdonotknowifI’llbestronglikeRuby.
Idonotknowwhattheworldwilllooklike
whenIamfinallyabletowalk,speak,write...
AnotherBuckeye!
thenursesaystomymother.
Already,Iambeingnamedforthisplace.
Ohio.TheBuckeyeState.
Myfingerscurlintofists,automatically
Thisistheway,mymothersaid,
ofeverybaby’shand.
Idonotknowifthesehandswillbecome
Malcolm’s—raisedandfisted
orMartin’s—openandasking
orJames’s—curledaroundapen.
Idonotknowifthesehandswillbe
Rosa’s
orRuby’s
gentlygloved
andfiercelyfolded
calmlyinalap,
onadesk,
aroundabook,
ready
tochangetheworld...
agirlnamedjack
Goodenoughnameforme,myfathersaid
thedayIwasborn.
Don’tseewhy
shecan’thaveit,too.
Butthewomensaidno.
Mymotherfirst.
Theneachaunt,pullingmypinkblanketback
pattingthecropofthickcurls
tuggingatmynewtoes
touchingmycheeks.
Wewon’thaveagirlnamedJack,mymothersaid.
Andmyfather ’ssisterswhispered,
AboynamedJackwasbadenough.
Butonlysomymothercouldhear.
NameagirlJack,myfathersaid,
andshecan’thelpbut
growupstrong.
Raiseherright,myfathersaid,
andshe’llmakethatnameherown.
NameagirlJack
andpeoplewilllookathertwice,myfathersaid.
Fornogoodreasonbuttoaskifherparents
werecrazy,mymothersaid.
AndbackandforthitwentuntilIwasJackie
andmyfatherleftthehospitalmad.
Mymothersaidtomyaunts,
Handmethatpen,wrote
Jacquelinewhereitaskedforaname.
Jacqueline,justincase
someonethoughttodroptheie.
Jacqueline,justincase
Igrewupandwantedsomethingalittlebitlonger
andfurtherawayfrom
Jack.
thewoodsonsofohio
Myfather ’sfamily
cantracetheirhistoryback
toThomasWoodsonofChillicothe,saidtobe
thefirstson
ofThomasJeffersonandSallyHemings
somesay
thisisn’tsobut...
theWoodsonsofOhioknow
whattheWoodsonscomingbeforethem
leftbehind,inBibles,instories,
inhistorycomingdownthroughtime
so
askanyWoodsonwhy
youcan’tgodowntheWoodsonline
without
finding
doctorsandlawyersandteachers
athletesandscholarsandpeopleingovernment
they’llsay,
Wehadaheadstart.
They’llsay,
ThomasWoodsonexpectedthebestofus.
They’llleanback,lacetheirfingers
acrosstheirchests,
smileasmilethat’solderthantime,say,
WellitallstartedbackbeforeThomasJefferson
WoodsonofChillicothe...
andthey’llbegintotellourlong,longstory.
theghostsofthenelsonvillehouse
TheWoodsonsareone
ofthefewBlackfamiliesinthistown,theirhouse
isbigandwhiteandsits
onahill.
Lookup
toseethem
throughthehighwindows
insideakitchenfilledwiththelight
ofawateryNelsonvillesun.Intheparlor
afireplaceburnswarmth
intothelongOhiowinter.
Keeplookingandit’sspringagain,
thelight’sgoldnow,anddancing
acrossthepinefloors.
Once,thereweresomanychildrenhere
runningthroughthishouse
upanddownthestairs,hidingunderbeds
andintrunks,
sneakingintothekitchenfortinypieces
oficeboxcake,coldfriedchicken,
thickslicesoftheirmother ’shoneyham...
Once,myfatherwasababyhere
andthenhewasaboy...
Butthatwasalongtimeago.
Inthephotosmygrandfatheristallerthaneverybody
andmygrandmotherjustaninchsmaller.
Onthewallstheirchildrenrunthroughfields,
playinpools,
danceinteen-filledrooms,allofthem
grownupandgonenow—
butwait!
Lookclosely:
There’sAuntAlicia,thebabygirl,
curlsspiralingoverhershoulders,herhands
cuppedaroundabouquetofflowers.Only
fouryearsoldinthatpicture,andalready,
areader.
BesideAliciaanotherpicture,myfather,Jack,
theoldestboy.
Eightyearsoldandmadaboutsomething
orisitsomeone
wecannotsee?
Inanotherpicture,myuncleWoody,
babyboy
laughingandpointing
theNelsonvillehousebehindhimandmaybe
hisbrotherattheendofhispointedfinger.
MyauntAnneinhernurse’suniform,
myauntAdainheruniversitysweater
Buckeyetothebone...
ThechildrenofHopeandGrace.
Lookclosely.ThereIam
inthefurrowofJack’sbrow,
intheslynessofAlicia’ssmile,
inthebendofGrace’shand...
ThereIam...
Beginning.
it’llbescarysometimes
Mygreat-great-grandfatheronmyfather ’sside
wasbornfreeinOhio,
1832.
Builthishomeandfarmedhisland,
thendugforcoalwhenthefarming
wasn’tenough.Foughthard
inthewar.Hisnameinstonenow
ontheCivilWarMemorial:
WilliamJ.Woodson
UnitedStatesColoredTroops,
Union,CompanyB5thRegt.
Alongtimedeadbutlivingstill
amongtheothersoldiers
onthatmonumentinWashington,D.C.
HissonwassenttoNelsonville
livedwithanaunt
WilliamWoodson
theonlybrownboyinanall-whiteschool.
You’llfacethisinyourlifesomeday,
mymotherwilltellus
overandoveragain.
Amomentwhenyouwalkintoaroomand
noonethereislikeyou.
It’llbescarysometimes.ButthinkofWilliamWoodson
andyou’llbeallright.
footballdreams
Noonewasfaster
thanmyfatheronthefootballfield.
Noonecouldkeephim
fromcrossingtheline.Then
touchingdownagain.
Coacheswerewatchingthewayhemoved,
hiseasystride,hislongarmsreaching
up,snatchingtheballfromitssoftpocket
ofair.
Myfatherdreamedfootballdreams,
andwoketoascholarship
atOhioStateUniversity.
Grownnow
livingthebig-citylife
inColumbus
justsixtymiles
fromNelsonville
andfromthere
Interstate70couldgetyou
onyourwaywesttoChicago
Interstate77couldtakeyousouth
butmyfathersaid
nocoloredBuckeyeinhisrightmind
wouldeverwanttogothere.
FromColumbus,myfathersaid,
youcouldgojustabout
anywhere.
otherpeople’smemory
Youwereborninthemorning,GrandmaGeorgianasaid.
Irememberthesoundofthebirds.Mean
oldbluejayssquawking.Theyliketofight,youknow.
Don’tmesswithbluejays!
Iheartheycankillacatiftheygetmadenough.
Andthenthephonewasringing.
Throughallthatstaticandsquawking,Iheard
yourmamatellingmeyou’dcome.
Anothergirl,Istoodtherethinking,
soclosetothefirstone.
JustlikeyourmamaandCaroline.Noteven
ayearbetweenthemandsoclose,youcouldhardlytell
whereoneendedandtheotherstarted.
Andthat’showIknowyoucameinthemorning.
That’showIremember.
Youcameinthelateafternoon,mymothersaid.
TwodaysafterIturnedtwenty-two.
Yourfatherwasatwork.
Tookarushhourbus
trying
togettoyou.But
bythetimehearrived,
youwerealreadyhere.
Hemissedthemoment,mymothersaid,
butwhatelseisnew.
You’retheonethatwasbornnearnight,
myfathersays.
WhenIsawyou,Isaid,She’stheunluckyone
comeoutlookingjustlikeherdaddy.
Helaughs.Rightoffthebat,Itoldyourmama,
We’regonnacallthisoneafterme.
Mytimeofbirthwasn’tlisted
onthecertificate,thengotlostagain
amidotherpeople’sbadmemory.
noreturns
Whenmymothercomeshome
fromthehospitalwithme,
myolderbrothertakesonelook
insidethepinkblanket,says,
Takeherback.Wealreadyhaveoneofthose.
Alreadythreeyearsoldandstilldoesn’tunderstand
howsomethingsotinyandnew
can’tbereturned.
howtolisten#1
Somewhereinmybrain
eachlaugh,tearandlullaby
becomesmemory.
uncleodell
Sixmonthsbeforemybigsisterisborn,
myuncleOdellishitbyacar
whilehomeinSouthCarolina
onleavefromtheNavy.
WhenthephonerangintheNelsonvillehouse,
maybemymotherwasouthanginglaundry
onthelineordowninthekitchen
speakingsoftlywithhermother-in-law,Grace,missing
herownmamabackhome.
Maybethecarwaspackedandreadyforthedrive
backtoColumbus—theplacemyfather
calledtheBigCity—nowtheirhome.
ButeverySaturdaymorning,theydrove
thehourtoNelsonvilleandstayed
tillSundaynight.
Mayberightbeforethephonerang,tomorrow
wasjustanotherday.
Butwhenthenewsofmyuncle’sdying
traveledfromtheplacehefellinSouthCarolina,
tothecoldMarchmorninginOhio,
mymotherlookedoutintoagrayday
thatwouldchangeherforever.
Yourbrother
mymotherheardherownmothersay
andthentherewasonlyaroaringintheairaroundher
anewpainwhereoncetherewasn’tpain
ahollownesswhereonlyminutesbefore
shehadbeenwhole.
goodnews
Monthsbeforethebone-cold
BuckeyewintersettlesoverOhio,
thelastSeptemberlightbrings
myoldersister,
named
OdellaCarolineaftermyuncleOdell
andmyauntCaroline.
InSouthCarolina,thephonerings.
Asmymother ’smothermovestowardit,
shecloseshereyes,
thenopensthemtolookoutoverheryard.
Asshereachesforit,
shewatchesthewaythelightslipsthrough
theheavypineneedles,dappleseverything
withsweetSeptemberlight...
Herhandonthephonenow,sheliftsit
prayingsilently
forthegoodnews
thesweetchillofautumn
isfinallybringingherway.
mymotherandgrace
ItistheSouththatbringsmymother
andmyfather ’smother,Grace,
together.
Grace’sfamilyisfromGreenville,too.
Somymother
ishometoher,inawayherownkids
can’tunderstand.
YouknowhowthoseWoodsonsare,Gracesays.
TheWoodsonsthisandtheNorththat
makingMamasmile,remember
thatGrace,too,wassomeoneelsebefore.Remember
thatGrace,likemymother,wasn’talwaysaWoodson.
Theyarehometoeachother,Grace
tomymotherisasfamiliar
astheGreenvilleair.
Bothknowthatsouthernwayoftalking
withoutwords,rememberwhen
theheatofsummer
couldmeltthemouth,
sosouthernersstayedquiet
lookedoutovertheland,
noddedatwhatseemedlikenothing
butthatsilentnodsaideverything
anyoneneededtohear.
HereinOhio,mymotherandGrace
aren’tafraid
oftoomuchairbetweenwords,arehappy
justforanotherfamiliarbodyintheroom.
Butthefewwordsinmymother ’smouth
becomethemissing
afterOdelldies—adifferentsilence
thaneitherofthemhaseverknown.
I’msorryaboutyourbrother,Gracesays.
GuessGodneededhimbackandsentyouababygirl.
Butbothofthemknow
theholethatisthemissingisn’tfillednow.
Uhmm,mymothersays.
Blessthedeadandtheliving,Gracesays.
Thenmoresilence
bothofthemknowing
there’snothinglefttosay.
eachwinter
Eachwinter
justasthefirstofthesnowbeginstofall,
mymothergoeshometoSouthCarolina.
Sometimes,
myfathergoeswithherbutmostly,
hedoesn’t.
Soshegetsonthebusalone.
Thefirstyearwithone,
thesecondyearwithtwo,
andfinallywiththreechildren,HopeandDellhugging
eachlegandme
inherarms.Always
thereisafightbeforesheleaves.
Ohio
iswheremyfatherwantstobe
buttomymother
Ohiowillneverbehome,
nomatter
howmanyplantsshebrings
indoorseachwinter,singingsoftlytothem,
theliltofherwordsabreath
ofwarmairmovingovereachleaf.
Inreturn,theyholdontotheircolor
evenasthesnowbeginstofall.Areminder
ofthedeepgreenSouth.Apromise
oflife
somewhere.
journey
YoucankeepyourSouth,myfathersays.
Thewaytheytreatedusdownthere,
IgotyourmamaoutasquickasIcould.
BroughtherrightupheretoOhio.
Toldherthere’snevergonnabeaWoodson
thatsitsinthebackofthebus.
NevergonnabeaWoodsonthathasto
YessirandNosirwhitepeople.
NevergonnabeaWoodsonmadetolookdown
attheground.
Allyoukidsarestrongerthanthat,myfathersays.
AllyouWoodsonkidsdeservetobe
asgoodasyoualreadyare.
Yessirree,Bob,myfathersays.
YoucankeepyourSouthCarolina.
greenville,southcarolina,1963
Onthebus,mymothermoveswithustotheback.
Itis1963
inSouthCarolina.
Toodangeroustositclosertothefront
anddarethedriver
tomakehermove.Notwithus.Notnow.
Meinherarmsallofthreemonthsold.Mysister
andbrothersqueezedintotheseatbesideher.White
shirt,tie,andmybrother ’sheadshavedclean.
Mysister ’sbraids
whiteribboned.
Situpstraight,mymothersays.
Shetellsmybrothertotakehisfingers
outofhismouth.
Theydowhatisaskedofthem.
Althoughtheydon’tknowwhytheyhaveto.
Thisisn’tOhio,mymothersays,
asthoughweunderstand.
Hermouthasmalllipstickeddash,herback
sharpasaline.DONOTCROSS!
COLOREDSTOTHEBACK!
Stepoffthecurbifawhitepersoncomestowardyou
don’tlookthemintheeye.Yessir.Nosir.
Myapologies.
Hereyesstraightahead,mymother
ismilesawayfromhere.
Thenhermouthsoftens,herhandmovesgently
overmybrother ’swarmhead.Heisthreeyearsold,
hiswideeyesopentotheworld,histoo-bigears
alreadylistening.We’reasgoodasanybody,
mymotherwhispers.
Asgoodasanybody.
home
Soon...
Wearenearmyothergrandparents’house,
smallredstone,
immenseyardsurroundingit.
HallStreet.
Afrontporchswingthirstyforoil.
Apotofazaleasblooming.
Apinetree.
Reddirtwaftingup
aroundmymother ’snewlypolishedshoes.
Welcomehome,mygrandparentssay.
Theirwarmbrown
armsaroundus.Awhitehandkerchief,
embroideredwithblue
towipeawaymymother ’stears.Andme,
thenewbaby,setdeep
insidethislove.
thecousins
It’smymother ’sbirthdayandthemusic
isturneduploud.
Hercousinsallaroundher—thewayitwas
beforesheleft.
Thesamecousinssheplayedwithasagirl.
Rememberthetime,theyask,
WhenwestoleMizCarter’speachpieoffherwindowsill,
gotstuckinthatditchdownbelowTodd’shouse,
climbedthatfenceandsnuckintoGreenvillepool,
weren’tscaredaboutgettingarrestedeither,shoot!
nobodytellinguswherewecanandcan’tswim!
Andshelaughs,rememberingitall.
Ontheradio,SamCookeissinging
“Twistin’theNightAway”:
Letmetellyou’boutaplace
Somewhereup-aNewYorkway
ThecousinshavecomefromasfarawayasSpartanburg
theboysdressedinskinny-leggedpants,
thegirlsinflowyskirtsthatswirlout,whentheyspin
twistingthenightaway.
CousinDorothy’sfiancé,holdingtighttoherhand
astheytwist
CousinSamdancingwithMama,readytocatchher
ifshefalls,hesays
andmymotherremembersbeingalittlegirl,
lookingdown
scaredfromahigh-uptree
andseeinghercousinthere—waiting.
Heretheyhavealotoffun
Puttin’troubleontherun
Twistin’thenightaway.
Iknewyouweren’tstayingupNorth,thecousinssay.
Youbelongherewithus.
Mymotherthrowsherheadback,
hernewlypressedandcurledhairgleaming
hersmilethesameoneshehad
beforesheleftforColumbus.
She’sMaryAnnIrbyagain.GeorgianaandGunnar ’s
youngestdaughter.
She’shome.
nightbus
Myfatherarrivesonanightbus,hishatinhishands.
ItisMaynowandtherainiscomingdown.
Laterwiththeendofthisrain
willcomethesweetsmellofhoneysucklebutfornow,
thereisonlytheskyopeningandmyfather ’stears.
I’msorry,hewhispers.
Thisfightisoverfornow.
Tomorrow,wewilltravelasafamily
backtoColumbus,Ohio,
HopeandDellfightingforaplace
onmyfather ’slap.Greenville
withitsseparatewaysgrowingsmall
behindus.
Fornow,myparentsstandhugging
inthewarmCarolinarain.
Nopast.
Nofuture.
JustthisperfectNow.
aftergreenville#1
Afterthechickenisfriedandwrappedinwaxpaper,
tuckedgentlyintocardboardshoeboxes
andtiedwithstring...
Afterthecornbreadiscutintowedges,thepeaches
washedanddried...
Afterthesweetteaispouredintomasonjars
twistedtight
andthedeviledeggsarescoopedbackinside
theiregg-whitebeds
slippedintoporcelainbowlsthataremymother ’snow,
agift
hermothersendswithheronthejourney...
Aftertheclothesarefoldedbackintosuitcases,
thehairribbonsandshirtswashedandironed...
Aftermymother ’slipstickisonandmyfather ’s
scratchybeginningsofabeardaregone...
Afterourfacesarecoated
withathinlayerofVaselinegentlywipedoffagain
withacool,wetcloth...
thenitistimetosayourgood-byes,
thesmallclutchofuschildren
pressedagainstmygrandmother ’sapron,hertears
quicklyblinkedaway...
Afterthenightfallsanditissafe
forbrownpeopletoleave
theSouthwithoutgettingstopped
andsometimesbeaten
andalwaysquestioned:
AreyouoneofthoseFreedomRiders?
AreyouoneofthoseCivilRightsPeople?
Whatgivesyoutheright...?
WeboardtheGreyhoundbus,bound
forOhio.
rivers
TheHockingRivermoveslikeaflowingarmaway
fromtheOhioRiver
runsthroughtownsasthough
it’schasingitsownfreedom,thesameway
theOhiorunsnorthfromVirginiauntil
it’ssafelyaway
fromtheSouth.
EachtowntheHockingtouchestellsastory:
Athens
Coolville
Lancaster
Nelsonville,
each
waitsfortheHockingwatertowashthrough.Then
asthoughtheriverrememberswhereitbelongs
andwhatitbelongsto,
itcirclesback,joinsupwith
theOhioagain
asiftosay,
I’msorry.
asiftosay,
Iwentawayfromhere
butnow
I’mhomeagain.
leavingcolumbus
Whenmyparentsfightforthefinaltime,
myolderbrotherisfour,
mysisterisnearlythree,
andIhavejustcelebratedmyfirstbirthday
withoutcelebration.
Thereisonlyonephotographofthem
fromtheirtimetogether
aweddingpicture,tornfromalocalnewspaper
himinasuitandtie,
herinabridegown,beautiful
althoughneitherone
issmiling.
Onlyonephotograph.
MaybethememoryofColumbuswastoomuch
formymothertosave
anymore.
Maybethememoryofmymother
wasapainfulstoneinsidemyfather ’sheart.
Butwhatdiditlooklike
whenshefinallylefthim?
Awomannearlysixfeettall,straight-backed
andproud,headingdown
acoldColumbusstreet,twosmallchildren
besideherandastill-crawlingbaby
inherarms.
Myfather,whosereddish-brownskin
wouldlaterremindme
ofthereddirtoftheSouth
andallthatwasrichaboutit,standing
intheyard,onehand
ontheblackmetalrailing,theotherlifting
intoaweakwavegood-bye.
Asthoughweweresimplyguests
leavingSundaysupper.
ournames
InSouthCarolina,webecome
TheGrandchildren
Gunnar’sThreeLittleOnes
SisterIrby’sGrands
MaryAnn’sBabies
Andwhenwearecalledbyournames
mygrandmother
makesthemallone
HopeDellJackie
butmygrandfather
takeshissweettime,sayingeach
asifhehasalldaylong
orawholelifetime.
ohiobehindus
Whenweaskourmotherhowlongwe’llbehere,
sometimesshesaysforawhileandsometimes
shetellsusnottoaskanymore
becauseshedoesn’tknowhowlongwe’llstay
inthehousewhereshegrewup
onthelandshe’salwaysknown.
Whenweask,shetellsus
thisiswheresheusedtobelong
buthersister,Caroline,ourauntKay,hasmoved
totheNorth,
herbrotherOdellisdeadnow,
andherbabybrother,Robert,sayshe’salmostsaved
enoughmoneytofollowCarolinetoNewYorkCity.
MaybeIshouldgothere,too,mymothersays.
Everyoneelse,shesays,
hasanewplacetobenow.
Everyoneelse
hasgoneaway.
Andnowcomingbackhome
isn’treallycomingbackhome
atall.
thegarden
Eachspring
thedarkNicholtowndirtisfilled
withthepromise
ofwhattheearthcangivebacktoyou
ifyouworktheland
planttheseeds
pulltheweeds.
Mysoutherngrandfathermissedslavery
byonegeneration.Hisgrandfather
hadbeenowned.
Hisfatherworked
thelandfromdawntilldusk
forthepromiseofcotton
andalittlepay.
Sothisiswhathebelievesin
yourhandsinthecooldirt
untiltheearthgivesbacktoyou
allthatyou’veaskedofit.
Sweetpeasandcollards,
greenpeppersandcukes
lettuceandmelon,
berriesandpeachesandoneday
whenI’mable,mygrandfathersays,
I’mgonnafigureouthowtogrowmyselfapecantree.
Godgivesyouwhatyouneed,mygrandmothersays.
Bestnottoaskformorethanthat.
Hmph,mygrandfathersays.Andgoesback
toworkingtheland,pullingfromitallweneed
andmorethanthat.
gunnar’schildren
Atdusk,justasthefirefliesflickeron,mygrandfather
makeshisway
home.
Weseehimcomingslowdowntheroad,
hissilverlunchboxbouncing
softagainsthisleg.Now,
ashegetscloser,wehearhim
singing:
“Wherewilltheweddingsupperbe?
Waydownyonderinahollowtree.Uhhmmm...”
Goodevening,MizClara.Evening,MizMae.
How’sthatleg,MizBell?
Whatyoucooking,AuntieCharlotte,youthinking
ofmakingmesomethingtoeat?
HisvoiceringingdownHallStreet,circling
roundtheroadsofNicholtown
andmaybeoutintothebig,wideworld...
MaybeallthewayupinNewYork,
AuntKay’shearingit,
andthinkingaboutcomingonhome...
Thenheiscloseenoughtorunto—thethreeofus
climbinghimlikeatreeuntilhelaughsoutloud.
WecallhimDaddy.
Thisiswhatourmothercallshim.
Thisisallweknownow.
Ourdaddyseemstallerthananyoneelse
inallofGreenville.
Morehandsome,too—
Hissquarejawandlightbrowneyes
sodifferentfromourown
narrow-faced,dark-eyedselves.Still,
hishandiswarmandstrongaroundmyown
asIskipbesidehim,
thewindblowinguparoundus.Hesays,
Y’allareGunnar’schildren.
Justkeeprememberingthat.
Justkeepremembering...
ThisisthewayofNicholtownevenings,
Daddy
cominghome,
me
jumpingintohisarms,
theothers
circlingaroundhim
allofusgrinning
allofustalking
allofuslovinghimup.
attheendoftheday
Therearewhitemenworkingattheprintingpress
besideDaddy,theirfingersblackened
withinksothatattheendoftheday,palmsup
it’shardtotellwhoiswhiteandwhoisnot,still
theycallmygrandfatherGunnar,
eventhoughhe’saforeman
andissupposedtobecalled
Mr.Irby.
Buthelooksthewhitemenintheeye
seesthewaysomanyofthemcan’tunderstand
acoloredman
tellingthemwhattheyneedtodo.
Thisisnew.Toofastforthem.
TheSouthischanging.
Sometimestheydon’tlisten.
Sometimestheywalkaway.
Attheendoftheday,thenewspaperisprinted,
themachinesareshutdownandeachman
punchesaclockandleavesbut
onlyColoredfolks
comehometoNicholtown.
Here,youcan’tlookrightorleftorupordown
withoutseeingbrownpeople.
ColoredTown.BrownTown.Evenafewmeanwords
tosaywherewelive.
Mygrandmothertellsus
it’sthewayoftheSouth.Coloredfolksusedtostay
wheretheyweretoldthattheybelonged.But
timesarechanging.
Andpeopleareitchingtogowheretheywant.
Thisevening,though,
Iamhappytobelong
toNicholtown.
daywork
Thereisdayworkforcoloredwomen.
Inthemorningstheirdarkbodies
fillthecrosstownbuses,
takingthemaway
fromNicholtown
totheotherside
ofGreenville
wherethewhitepeoplelive.
Ourgrandmothertellsusthis
asshesetsasmallhatwithatopazpinonherhead,
pullswhitegloves
overhersoftbrownhands.
Twodaysaweek,shejoinsthewomen,
takingonthissecondjobnow
thattherearefourmoremouthstofeed
andthemoney
shegetsfrompart-timeteachingisn’tenough
anymore.I’mnotashamed,shesays,
cleaningiswhatIknow.I’mnotashamed,
ifitfeedsmychildren.
Whenshereturnsintheevening,herhands
areashenfromwashingotherpeople’sclothes,
Mostoftenbyhand,
heranklesswollenfromstandingallday
makingbedsandsweepingfloors,
shakingdustfromcurtains,
pickingupafterotherpeople’schildren,cooking,
thelist
goesonandon.
Don’tanyofyoueverdodaywork,shewarnsus.
I’mdoingitnowsoyoudon’thaveto.
AndmaybeallacrossNicholtown,otherchildren
arehearingthis,too.
GettheEpsomsalts,shesays,leaningback
intothesoftbrownchair,hereyesclosing.
Whensheisn’tinit,Hope,DellandIsqueezein
sidebysidebysideandstill,thereisspaceleft
foronemore.
Wefilladishpanwithwarmwater,pour
thesaltsin,swirlitaroundandcarefully
carryittoherfeet.Wefighttoseewhowillget
torubtheswellingfrommygrandmother ’sankles,
thesmilebackontoherface,
thestoriesbackintothetoo-quietroom.
Youcouldhaveeatenoffthefloorbythetime
Ileftthisonehousetoday,
mygrandmotherbegins,lettingoutaheavysigh.But
letmetellyou,
whenIfirstgotthere,youwouldhavethought
theDevilhimselfhadcomethrough...
lullaby
Atnight,everylivingthingcompetes
forachancetobeheard.
Thecrickets
andfrogscallout.
Sometimes,there’sthesoft
who-whooofanowllost
amidthepines.
Eventhedogswon’trestuntil
they’vehowled
atthemoon.
Butthecricketsalwayswin,longafter
thefrogsstopcroaking
andtheowlhasfounditswayhome.
Longafterthedogshavelaindown
losingthebattleagainstsleep,
thecricketskeepgoing
asthoughtheyknowtheirsong
isourlullaby.
bibletimes
MygrandmotherkeepsherBibleonashelf
besideherbed.Whenthedayisover,
shereadsquietlytoherself,andinthemorning
she’lltellusthestories,
howNoahlistened
toGod’sword
pulledtwoofeachanimalinsidehisark,waited
fortherainstocomeandfloatedsafely
asthesinnersdrowned.
It’smorningnowandwehavefloatedsafely
throughtheNicholtownnight,
oureveningprayers
Jehovah,pleasegiveusanotherday,
nowanswered.
Biscuitswarmandbutteredstophalfway
toourmouths.Howmuchraindidittake
todestroythesinners?Whatliesdidtheytell
todiesuchadeath?Howloudwastherain
whenitcame?HowdidNoahknow
thatthecobrawouldn’tbite,thebull
wouldn’tcharge,thebeewouldn’tsting?
Ourquestionscomefastbutwewant
thestoriesmorethanwewanttheanswers
sowhenmygrandmothersays,
Hush,soIcantellit!
Wedo.
Jacob’sdreamofaladdertoheaven,andJesus
withthechildrensurroundinghim.Moses
onthemountain,fireburningwordsintostone.
EvenSalomeintriguesus,herwishforaman’shead
onaplatter—whocouldwantthisandlive
totellthestoryofthatwanting?
Autumniscoming.
Outside,there’sthesoundofwind
throughthepinetrees.
Butinsidetherearestories,therearebiscuits
andgritsandeggs,thefireinthepotbelliedstove
alreadyfillingthehousewithwarmth.
StillweshiveratthethoughtofevilSalome,
chewourbiscuitsslowly.
Wearesafehere—milesandyearsaway
fromBibleTimes.
thereader
Whenwecan’tfindmysister,weknow
sheisunderthekitchentable,abookinherhand,
aglassofmilkandasmallbowlofpeanutsbesideher.
WeknowwecancallOdella’snameoutloud,
slapthetablehardwithourhands,
dancearounditsinging
“She’llBeComing’RoundtheMountain”
somanytimesthesongmakesussick
andthecirclingmakesusdizzy
andstill
mysisterwilldonothingmore
thanslowlyturnthepage.
thebeginning
Icannotwriteawordyetbutatthree,
InowknowtheletterJ
lovethewayitcurvesintoahook
thatIcarefullytopwithastraighthat
thewaymysisterhastaughtmetodo.Love
thesoundoftheletterandthepromise
thatonedaythiswillbeconnectedtoafullname,
myown
thatIwillbeabletowrite
bymyself.
Withoutmysister ’shandovermine,
makingitdowhatIcannotyetdo.
Howamazingthesewordsarethatslowlycometome.
Howwonderfullyonandontheygo.
Willthewordsend,Iask
wheneverIrememberto.
Nope,mysistersays,alloffiveyearsoldnow,
andpromisingme
infinity.
hope
TheSouthdoesn’tagree
withmybrother.
Theheatsandpapershisskin.
Don’tscratch,mygrandmotherwarns.Buthedoes
andtheskingrowsrawbeneathhisfingers.
Thepollenleaveshimpuffyeyed,hissmallbreaths
comequick,havetoomuchsoundaroundthem.
Hemovesslow,sicklynowwhereonce
hewasstrong.
Andwhenhisbodyisn’tbetrayinghim,Ohiodoes.
Thememorieswakinghiminthenight,theview
frommyfather ’sshoulders,thewonder
oftheNelsonvillehouse,theair
soeasytobreathe...
YoucankeepyourSouth,myfatherhadsaid.
NowHopestaysmostlyquiet
unlessaskedtospeak,hisheadbent
insidethesuperherocomicbooksmygrandfather
bringshomeonFridays.Hopesearchesforhimself
insidetheirpages.Leavesthem
dog-earedbyMondaymorning.
TheSouth
hismortalenemy.
TheSouth,
hisKryptonite.
thealmostfriends
There’stheboyfromuptheroad
withtheholeinhisheart.Someafternoons
hecomestositinouryardandlisten
toourstories.OurauntKay,wetellhim,
livesinNewYorkCityandmaybewewill,too,
someday.Andyesit’strue,once
welivedinOhio,that’swhy
wespeakthewaywedo.
Wedon’taskaboutthehole
inhisheart.Ourgrandmotherwarnsus
weknowbetterthanthat.
ThereisCoraandhersisters,acrosstheroad.
Onewordinmygrandmother ’smouth—Youstayaway
fromCoraandhersisters,theirmother
leftthefamily,ranoff
withtheirchurchpastor.
Coraandhersisters
sometimes
sitwatchingus.
Wewatchthembacknotasking
whatitfeelslikenottohaveamotherbecause
ourgrandmotherwarnsus
weknowbetterthanthat.
Therearethreebrotherswholivedowntheroad
weknowthisonlybecause
ourgrandmothertellsus.Theylive
insidetheirdarkhouse
allsummer,comingout
intheeveningwhentheirmotherreturnsfromwork
longafterwe’vebathedandslippedinto
oursummerpajamas,bookscurledinto
ourarms.
Theseareouralmostfriends,thepeople
wethinkaboutwhenwe’retiredofplaying
witheachother.
Butourgrandmothersays,
Threeisplenty.Threeisateam.
Findsomethingtodotogether.
Andsooverandoveragain,
wedo.Eventhoughwewanttoaskher,
Whycan’tweplaywiththem?wedon’t.
Weknowbetterthanthat.
therightwaytospeak
Thefirsttimemybrothersaysain’tmymother
pullsabranchfromthewillowtreegrowingdown
thehillattheedge
ofourbackyard.
Assheslipsherclosedhandoverit,
removingtheleaves,
mybrotherbeginstocry
becausethebranchisaswitchnow
nolongerbeautifullyweepingatthebottomofthehill.
Itwhirsasmymotherwhipsit
throughtheairanddown
againstmybrother ’slegs.
Youwillnever,mymothersays,
sayain’tinthishouse.
Youwillnever
sayain’tanywhere.
Eachswitchingisawarningtous
ourwordsaretoremain
crispandclear.
Wearenevertosayhuh?
ain’tory’all
gitorgonna.
Neverma’am—justyes,witheyes
meetingeyesenough
toshowrespect.
Don’teverma’amanyone!
Thewordtoopainful
amemoryformymother
ofnot-so-long-ago
southernsubservientdays...
Thelistofwhatnottosay
goesonandon...
YouarefromtheNorth,ourmothersays.
Youknowtherightwaytospeak.
Astheswitchraisesdarkweltsonmybrother ’slegs
DellandIlookon
afraidtoopenourmouths.FearingtheSouth
willslipoutor
intothem.
thecandylady
OnFridays,ourgrandfathertakesus
tothecandylady’shouse,
eventhoughourgrandmotherworrieshe’sgoing
tobethecauseofourteethrotting
rightoutofourheads.
Butmygrandfatherjustlaughs,
makesusopenourmouths
toshowthestrongIrbyteethwe’veinherited
fromhissideofthefamily.
Thethreeofusstandthere,ourmouthsopenwide,
strongwhiteteethinside,
andmygrandmotherhastonod,hastosay,
They’reluckybeforesendingusonourway.
Thecandylady’ssmalllivingroomisfilled
withshelvesandshelvesofchocolatebars
andgumdrops,Good&PlentyandJujubes,
MoonPiesandNeccoWafers,
lollipopsandlongredlicoricestrings.
Somuchcandythatit’shardtochoose
untilourgrandfathersays,
GetwhatyouwantbutI’mgettingmyselfsomeicecream.
Thenthecandylady,whoisgray-haired
andneversmiles,disappears
intoanotherroomandreturnsafewminuteslater
withawafercone,paleyellow
lemon-chiffonicecreamdrippingfromit.
Outside,eventhislateintheafternoon,
thesunisbeatingdown
andtheideaoflemon-chiffonicecreamcoolingus,
evenforafewminutes,
makesusallstartsayingatonce—Me,too,Daddy.
Me,too,Daddy.Me,too.
Thewalkhomefromthecandylady’shouse
isaquietone
exceptforthesoundofmeltingicecream
beingslurpedup
fast,beforeitslidespastourwrists,
ondownourarmsandonto
thehot,dryroad.
southcarolinaatwar
Becausewehavearight,mygrandfathertellsus—
wearesittingathisfeetandthestorytonightis
whypeoplearemarchingallovertheSouth—
towalkandsitanddreamwhereverwewant.
Firsttheybroughtushere.
Thenweworkedforfree.Thenitwas1863,
andweweresupposedtobefreebutweweren’t.
Andthat’swhypeoplearesomad.
Andit’strue,wecan’tturnontheradio
withouthearingaboutthemarching.
Wecan’tgotodowntownGreenvillewithout
seeingtheteenagerswalkingintostores,sitting
wherebrownpeoplestillaren’tallowedtosit
andgettingcarriedout,theirbodieslimp,
theirfacescalm.
Thisisthewaybrownpeoplehavetofight,
mygrandfathersays.
Youcan’tjustputyourfistup.Youhavetoinsist
onsomething
gently.Walktowardathing
slowly.
Butbereadytodie,
mygrandfathersays,
forwhatisright.
Bereadytodie,mygrandfathersays,
foreverythingyoubelievein.
Andnoneofuscanimaginedeath
butwetrytoimagineitanyway.
Evenmymotherjoinsthefight.
Whenshethinksourgrandmother
isn’twatchingshesneaksout
tomeetthecousinsdowntown,butjustas
she’ssteppingthroughthedoor,
hergooddressandgloveson,mygrandmothersays,
Nowdon’tgogettingarrested.
AndMamasoundslikealittlegirlwhenshesays,
Iwon’t.
Morethanahundredyears,mygrandfathersays,
andwe’restillfightingforthefreelife
we’resupposedtobeliving.
Sothere’sawargoingoninSouthCarolina
andevenasweplay
andplantandpreachandsleep,weareapartofit.
Becauseyou’recolored,mygrandfathersays.
Andjustasgoodandbrightandbeautifulandfree
asanybody.
AndnobodycoloredintheSouthisstopping,
mygrandfathersays,
untileverybodyknowswhat’strue.
thetraining
Whenmymother ’soldercousin
andbestfriend,Dorothy,
comeswithherchildren,theyrunoff
sayingtheycan’tunderstand
thewayHope,DellandIspeak.
Y’allgotoofast,theysay.
Andthewordsgetallpushedtogether.
Theysaytheydon’tfeellikeplaying
withuslittlekids.Sotheyleaveus
towalkthestreetsofNicholtownwhenwecan’t
leavetheporch.
Wewatchthemgo,hear
CousinDorothysay,Don’tyouknuckleheads
getintotroubleoutthere.
ThenwestayclosetoCousinDorothy,makebelieve
we’renotlisteningwhensheknowsweare.
Laughingwhenshelaughs,shakingourownheads
whensheshakes
hers.Youknowhowyouhavetogetthosetrainings,
shesays,andourmothernods.They
won’tletyousitatthecounters
withoutthem.Havetoknowwhattodo
whenthosepeoplecomeatyou.
Shehasasmallspacebetweenherteeth
likemymother ’sspace,andHope’sandDell’s,too.
Sheistallanddark-skinned,
beautifulandbroadshouldered.
Shewearsglovesanddark-coloreddressesmadeforher
byaseamstressinCharleston.
Thetrainingstakeplaceinthebasementsofchurches
andthebackroomsofstores,
onlongcartripsandanywhereelsewherepeoplecan
gather.Theylearn
howtochangetheSouthwithoutviolence,
howtonotbemoved
bytheevilactionsofothers,howtowalkslowlybut
withdeliberatesteps.
Howtositatcountersandbecursedat
withoutcursingback,havefoodanddrinkspoured
overthemwithoutstandingupandhurtingsomeone.
Eventheteenagers
gettrainedtosittall,notcry,swallowbackfear.
ButLord,CousinDorothysays.Everybodyhasaline.
WhenI’mwalking
uptothatlunchcounterandtakingmyseat,
IpraytoGod,don’tlet
anybodyspitonme.IcanbeSweetDorothy
sevendaysaweek,twenty-fourhoursaday
aslongasnobodycrossesthatline.Becauseiftheydo,
thisnonviolentmovement
isover!
theblanket
ThefirsttimemymothergoestoNewYorkCity
itisonlyforalong-weekendvisit,
herkissonourcheeks
asmuchapromiseastheexcitementinhereyes.
I’llbringsomethingbackforeachofyou.
It’sFridaynightandtheweekendahead
isalreadycallingus
tothecandylady’shouse,
myhandinDaddy’s.
Hedoesn’tknowhowtosayno,
mygrandmothercomplains.
Butneitherdoesshe,
dressesandsocksandribbons,
ourhairpressedandcurled.
Shecallsmysisterandmeherbabygirls,
smilesproudlywhenthewomensayhowprettyweare.
SothefirsttimemymothergoestoNewYorkCity
wedon’tknowtobesad,theweight
ofourgrandparents’lovelikeablanket
withusbeneathit,
safeandwarm.
missbellandthemarchers
Theylooklikeregularpeople
visitingourneighborMissBell,
foil-covereddishesheldoutinfrontofthem
astheyarrive
someinpairs,
somealone,
somejustlittlekids
holdingtheirmothers’hands.
Ifyoudidn’tknow,you’dthinkitwasjust
aneveninggathering.Maybechurchpeople
headingintoMissBell’shousetotalk
aboutGod.ButwhenMissBellpullsherblinds
closed,thepeoplefilltheirdinnerplateswithfood,
theirglasseswithsweetteaandgather
totalkaboutmarching.
AndeventhoughMissBellworksforawhitelady
whosaidIwillfireyouinaminuteifIeverseeyou
onthatline!
MissBellknowsthatmarchingisn’ttheonlything
shecando,
knowsthatpeoplefightingneedfullbelliestothink
andsafeplacestogather.
Sheknowsthewhiteladyisn’ttheonlyone
who’swatching,listening,waiting,
toendthisfight.Soshekeepsthemarchers’
glassesfilled,addsmorecornbread
andpotatosaladtotheirplates,
standsinthekitchenreadytoslice
lemonpoundcakeintogenerouspieces.
Andinthemorning,justbeforeshepulls
heruniformfromthecloset,sheprays,
God,pleasegivemeandthosepeoplemarching
anotherday.
Amen.
howtolisten#2
Inthestoresdowntown
we’realwaysfollowedaround
justbecausewe’rebrown.
hairnight
Saturdaynightsmellsofbiscuitsandburninghair.
Supperdoneandmygrandmotherhastransformed
thekitchenintoabeautyshop.Laidacrossthetable
isthehotcomb,DixiePeachhairgrease,
horsehairbrush,partingstick
andonegirlatatime.
Jackiefirst,mysistersays,
ourfreshlywashedhairdamp
andspiralingovertoweledshoulders
andpalecottonnightgowns.
Sheopensherbooktothemarkedpage,
curlsupinachairpulledclose
tothewood-burningstove,bowlofpeanutsinherlap.
Thewords
inherbooksaresosmall,Ihavetosquint
toseetheletters.HansBrinkerorTheSilverSkates.
TheHouseatPoohCorner.SwissFamilyRobinson.
Thickbooks
dog-earedfromthehandingdownfromneighbor
toneighbor.Mysisterhandlesthemgently,
marksthepageswithtornbrownpieces
ofpaperbag,wipesherhandsbeforegoing
beyondthehardboundcovers.
Readtome,Isay,myeyesandscalpalreadystinging
fromthetugofthebrushthroughmyhair.
Andwhilemygrandmothersetsthehotcomb
ontheflame,heatsitjustenoughtopull
mytightcurlsstraighter,mysister ’svoice
waftsoverthekitchen,
pastthesmellofhairandoilandflame,settles
likeahandonmyshoulderandholdsmethere.
IwantsilverskateslikeHans’s,aplace
onadesertisland.Ihaveneverseentheocean
butthis,too,Icanimagine—bluewaterpouring
overreddirt.
Asmysisterreads,thepicturesbeginforming
asthoughsomeonehasturnedonatelevision,
loweredthesound,
pulleditupclose.
Grainyblack-and-whitepicturescomeslowlyatme
Deep.Infinite.Remembered
OnabrightDecembermorninglongago...
Mysister ’sclearsoftvoiceopensuptheworldtome.
Ileanin
sohungryforit.
Holdstillnow,mygrandmotherwarns.
SoIsitonmyhandstokeepmymind
offmyhurtinghead,andmywholebodystill.
Buttherestofmeisalreadyleaving,
therestofmeisalreadygone.
familynames
There’sJames,Joseph,Andrew,Geneva,AnnieMae,
William,Lucinda,David,Talmudge,
mygrandmothersays.Alltogether,
mymamagavebirthtothirteenchildren.
Ourheadsspinatthethoughtofthatmanybrothers
andsisters.Threediedasbabies,shesays,
butonlyalittleofthespinningstops.
There’sLevonia,Montague,Iellus,Hallique,
ValieMae,VirdieandEloraonmydaddy’sside.
Wecan’thelpbutlaugheachtimeourdaddy
tellsusthenamesofhisbrothersandsisters.
Hisownname,
Gunnar,sendsuslaughingalloveragain.
Gavetheirkidsnames
thatnomastercouldevertakeaway.
WhataboutBoborJoe?Hopewantstoknow.
Whatabout
JohnorMichael?Orsomethingrealnormal,likeHope?
Hopeisnotnormal,mysistersays.Notforaboy.Ithink
yournameisamistake.Maybetheymeant
tonameyouVirdie.
I’mthegreatHopeofthefamily,mybrothersays.
JustlikeGrandpaHope.
JustlikeHopetheDope,mysistersaysback.
Keepupthearguing,mygrandfathersays,
I’lltakeyoubothdowntocityhall.
PeoplebehappytocallyouTalmudgeandValieMae.
americandream
Evenwhenmygirlswerelittle,we’dgodownthere,
mygrandmothertellsus.Andpeople’dbemarching.
Themarchingdidn’tjuststartyesterday.
Policewiththosedogs,scaredeverybody
neartodeath.Justonce
Iletmygirlsmarch.
Mygrandmotherleansbackinherbrownchair,
herfeetstillintheEpsomsaltswater,
herfingerstappingout
somesilenttune.Shecloseshereyes.
IletthemandIprayed.
What’sthething,Iaskher,thatwouldmakepeople
wanttolivetogether?
Peoplehavetowantit,that’sall.
Wegetquiet—maybeallofusarethinkingabout
theoneswhowantit.Andtheoneswhodon’t.
Weallhavethesamedream,mygrandmothersays.
Toliveequalinacountrythat’ssupposedtobe
thelandofthefree.
Sheletsoutalongbreath,
deepremembering.
Whenyourmotherwaslittle
shewantedadog.ButIsaidno.
Quickasyoucanblink,Itoldher,
adogwillturnonyou.
Somymotherbroughtkittenshome,
softandpurringinsideofemptyboxes
mewingandmewinguntilmygrandmother
fellinlove.Andletherkeepthem.
Mygrandmothertellsusallthis
aswesitatherfeet,eachstorylikeaphotograph
wecanlookrightinto,seeourmotherthere
marchersanddogsandkittensallblending
andusnow
thereineachmoment
besideher.
thefabricstore
SomeFridays,wewalktodowntownGreenvillewhere
therearesomeclothingstores,somerestaurants,
amotelandthefive-and-dimestorebut
mygrandmotherwon’ttakeus
intoanyofthoseplacesanymore.
Eventhefive-and-dime,whichisn’tsegregatednow
butwhereawomanispaid,mygrandmothersays,
tofollowcoloredpeoplearoundincasetheytryto
stealsomething.Wedon’tgointotherestaurants
becausetheyalwaysseatusnearthekitchen.
Whenwegodowntown,
wegotothefabricstore,wherethewhitewoman
knowsmygrandmother
frombackinAnderson,asks,
How’sGunnardoingandyourgirlsinNewYork?
Sherollsfabricoutformygrandmother
torubbetweenherfingers.
Theydiscussdrapeandnapandwheretocinch
thewaistonaskirtforachild.
Atthefabricstore,wearenotColored
orNegro.Wearenotthievesorshameful
orsomethingtobehiddenaway.
Atthefabricstore,we’rejustpeople.
ghosts
IndowntownGreenville,
theypaintedovertheWHITEONLYsigns,
exceptonthebathroomdoors,
theydidn’tusealotofpaint
soyoucanstillseethewords,rightthere
likeaghoststandinginfront
stillkeepingyouout.
theleavers
WewatchmenleaveGreenville
intheironegoodsuit,shoes
spitshined.
WewatchwomenleaveinSundayclothes,
hattedandlipstickedandwhitegloved.
Wewatchthemcatchbusesintheevening,
theblackshadowsoftheirbacks
thelastweseeofthem.
Othersfilltheircarswithbags.
Wholefamiliesdisappearingintothenight.
Peoplewavinggood-bye.
TheysaytheCityisaplacewherediamonds
specklethesidewalk.Money
fallsfromthesky.
Theysayacoloredpersoncandowellgoingthere.
AllyouneedisthefareoutofGreenville.
Allyouneedistoknowsomebodyontheotherside,
waitingtocrossyouover.
LiketheRiverJordan
andthenyou’reinParadise.
thebeginningoftheleaving
WhenmymotherreturnsfromNewYork
shehasanewplan—allofusaregoing
tomovethere.Wedon’tknow
anyplaceelsebutGreenvillenow—NewYork
isonlythepicturessheshowsus
inmagazinesandthetwoshehasinherpocketbook
ofourauntKay.Inone,therearetwootherpeople
standingwithher.
BernieandPeaches,ourmothertellsus.
Weallusedtobefriends
hereinNicholtown.
That’salltheyoungkidsusedtotalkabout,
ourgrandmothertellsus,
goingtoNewYorkCity.
Mymothersmilesatusandsays,
We’llbegoingtoNewYorkCity.
Ijusthavetofiguresomethingsoutfirst,that’sall.
Idon’tknowwhatI’ddowithoutyouallupunderme,
mygrandmothersaysandthere’sasadness
inhervoice.
Don’tknowwhatI’ddo,shesaysagain.
Evensadderthistime.
asachild,ismelledtheair
Mamatakeshercoffeeouttothefrontporch
sipsitslow.Twostepsdownandherfeet
arecoveredingrassanddew.
NewYorkdoesn’tsmelllikethis,shesays.
Ifollowher,thedewcoolagainstmyfeet
thesofthushofwindthroughleaves
mymotherandI
alonetogether.
Hercoffeeissweetenedwithcondensedmilk,
herhairpulledbackintoabraid,
herdarkfingerscirclinghercup.
IfIask,shewillholdittomylips,
letmetastethebittersweetofit.
It’sdawnandthebirdshavecomealive,chasing
eachotherfrommapletopineandback
tomapleagain.Thisishowtimepasseshere.
Themaplewillbebare-branchedcomewinter,
Mamasays.Butthepines,theyjustkeeponliving.
AndtheairiswhatI’llremember.
EvenoncewemovetoNewYork.
Italwayssmelledlikethis,mymothersays.
Wetgrassandpine.
Likememory.
harvesttime
WhenDaddy’sgardenisready
itisfilledwithwordsthatmakemelaugh
whenIsaythem—
polebeansandtomatoes,okraandcorn
sweetpeasandsugarsnaps,
lettuceandsquash.
Whocouldhaveimagined
somuchcolorthatthegrounddisappears
andweareleft
walkingthroughanautumn’sworth
ofcrazywords
thatbeneaththemagic
ofmygrandmother ’shands
become
sidedishes.
grownfolks’stories
Warmautumnnightwiththecricketscrying
thesmellofpinecomingsoftonthewind
andthewomen
ontheporch,quiltsacrosstheirlaps,
AuntLucinda,MissBellandwhateverneighbor
hasabreathortwoleftattheendoftheday
forsittingandrunningourmouths.
That’swhenwelisten
tothegrownfolkstalking.
Hope,Dellandmesittingquietonthestairs.
Weknowonewordfromuswillbringahush
uponthewomen,mygrandmother ’sfingersuddenly
pointingtowardthehouse,hersoft-spoken
Ithinkit’stimeforyoukidstogotobednowushering
usintoourroom.Sowearesilent,ourbacksagainst
postsandthebackofthestairs,Hope’selbows
onhisknees,headdown.Nowiswhenwelearn
everything
thereistoknow
aboutthepeopledowntheroadand
inthedayworkhouses,
abouttheSistersattheKingdomHall
andthefarawayrelativeswerarelysee.
Longafterthestoriesaretold,Irememberthem,
whisperthembacktoHope
andDelllateintothenight:
She’stheonewholeftNicholtowninthedaytime
theoneGrandmamasayswasn’tafraid
ofanything.Retellingeachstory.
MakingupwhatIdidn’tunderstand
ormissedwhenvoicesdroppedtoolow,Italk
untilmysisterandbrother ’ssoftbreathstellme
they’vefallen
asleep.
ThenIletthestorieslive
insidemyhead,againandagain
untiltherealworldfadesback
intocricketlullabies
andmyowndreams.
tobacco
Summerisover,akiss
ofchillinthesouthernair.Weseethedimorange
ofmygrandfather ’scigarette,ashemakeshisway
downthedarkeningroad.Hearhiseveninggreetings
andthecoughingthatfollowsthem.
Notenoughbreathleftnow
tosingsoIsingforhim,inmyhead
whereonlyIcanhear.
Wherewilltheweddingsupperbe?
Waydownyonderinahollowtree.Uhhmmm...
Theoldpeopleusedtosay
apinchofdirtinthemouth
cantelltobacco’sstory:
whatcrops
arereadyforpicking
whatneedstobelefttogrow.
Whatsoilisrichenoughforplanting
andthepatchesoflandthatneed
ayearofrest.
Idonotknowyet
howsometimestheearthmakesapromise
itcanneverkeep.Tobaccofields
layfallow,cropspickedclean.
Mygrandfathercoughsagain
andtheearthwaits
forwhatandwhoitwillgetinreturn.
howtolisten#3
Middleofthenight
mygrandfatheriscoughing
meupright.Startled.
mymotherleavinggreenville
Itislateautumnnow,thesmellofwoodburning,
thepotbelliedstovelikeawarmsofthand
inthecenterofmygrandparents’livingroom,
itsblackpipe
stretchingintotheceilingthendisappearing.
Somanyyearshavepassedsincewelastsaw
ourfather,hisabsence
likeabubbleinmyolderbrother ’slife,
thatpopsagainandagain
intoawholelotoftinybubbles
ofmemory.
Youwerejustababy,hesaystome.
You’resoluckyyoudon’trememberthefighting
oranything.
It’slikeeraserscamethroughhermemory,mysistersays.
Erase.Erase.Erase.
Butnow,mymotherisleavingagain.
This,Iwillremember.
halfwayhome#1
NewYork,mymothersays.
Soon,I’llfindusaplacethere.Comeback
andbringyouallhome.
Shewantsaplaceofherownthatisnot
TheNelsonvilleHouse,TheColumbusHouse,
TheGreenvilleHouse.
Lookingforhernextplace.
Ournextplace.
Rightnow,ourmothersays,
we’reonlyhalfwayhome.
AndIimagineherstanding
inthemiddleofaroad,herarmsout
fingerspointingNorthandSouth.
Iwanttoask:
Willtherealwaysbearoad?
Willtherealwaysbeabus?
Willwealwayshavetochoose
betweenhome
andhome?
mymotherlooksbackongreenville
Afterourdinnerandbath,
afterourpowderedandpajamaedbodiesaretucked
threeacrossintobed,
afterWinniethePoohandkissesonourforeheads
andlonger-than-usualhugs,
mymotherwalksawayfromthehouseonHallStreet
outintothegrowingnight,
downalongdustyroad
towheretheNicholtownbus
takeshertotheGreyhoundstation
thenmoredust
thenshe’sgone.
NewYorkaheadofher,
herfamilybehind,shemoves
totheback,herpurseinherlap,
theland
pullinghergazetothewindowoncemore.
Beforedarkness
coversitandformanyhours,thereareonlyshadows
andstars
andtears
andhope.
thelastfireflies
Weknowourdaysarecountedhere.
Eacheveningwewaitforthefirstlight
ofthelastfireflies,catchtheminjars
thenletthemgoagain.Asthoughweunderstand
theirneedforfreedom.
AsthoughoursilentprayerstostayinGreenville
willbeansweredif
wedowhatweknowisright.
changes
Nowtheeveningsarequietwithmymothergone
asthoughthenightislistening
tothewaywearecountingthedays.Weknow
eventhefeelofourgrandmother ’sbrush
beingpulledgentlythroughourhair
willfastbecomeamemory.ThoseSaturdayevenings
atherkitchentable,thesmell
ofDixiePeachhairgrease,
thesizzleofthestraighteningcomb,
thehissoftheiron
againstdamp,newlywashedribbons,allofthis
mayhappenagain,butinanotherplace.
Wesitonourgrandparents’porch,
shiveringalreadyagainstthecomingwinter,
andtalksoftlyaboutGreenvillesummer,
howwhenwecomeback,
we’lldoallthestuffwealwaysdid,
hearthesamestories,
laughatthesamejokes,catchfirefliesinthesame
masonjars,promiseeachother
futuresummersthatareasgoodasthepast.
Butweknowwearelying
cominghomewillbedifferentnow.
ThisplacecalledGreenville
thisneighborhoodcalledNicholtown
willchangesome
andsowilleachofus.
sterlinghighschool,greenville
WhilemymotherisawayinNewYorkCity,
afiresweepsthrough
heroldhighschool
duringaseniordance.
Smokefilledthecrowdedroom
andthemusic
stopped
andthestudentsdancing
stopped
andtheDJtoldthem
toquicklyleavethebuilding.
Thefire
lastedallnight
andwhenitwasover,
mymother ’shighschoolhadburned
nearlytotheground.
Mymothersaiditwasbecause
thestudentshadbeenmarching,
andthemarching
madesomewhitepeopleinGreenvillemad.
Afterthefirethestudentsweren’tallowedtogoto
theall-whitehighschool.
Insteadtheyhadtocrowdin
besidetheiryoungersistersandbrothers
atthelowerschool.
Inthephotosfrommymother ’shighschoolyearbook—
TheTorch,1959,
mymotherissmilingbesidehercousin
DorothyAnnandonherotherside,
thereisJesseJackson,
whomaybewasalreadydreamingofoneday
beingthefirstbrownmantorun
forpresident.
Andnoteven
thetorchingoftheirschool
couldstophimorthemarchers
fromchangingtheworld.
faith
Aftermymotherleaves,mygrandmother
pullsusfurther
intothereligionshehasalwaysknown.
WebecomeJehovah’sWitnesses
likeher.
Aftermymotherleaves
thereisnoone
tosay,
Thechildrencanchoosetheirownfaith
whenthey’reoldenough.
Inmyhouse,mygrandmothersays,
youwilldoasIdo.
Aftermymotherleaves,
wewakeinthemiddleofthenight
callingoutforher.
Havefaith,mygrandmothersays
pullingustoherinthedarkness.
LettheBible,
mygrandmothersays,
becomeyourswordandyourshield.
Butwedonotknowyet
whowearefighting
andwhatwearefightingfor.
thestoriescoratells
Intheeveningnow
Coraandhersisterscomeovertoourporch.
Therearethreeofthem
andthreeofusbutHope
movesawayfromthegirls
sitsbyhimself
outintheyard.
Andeventhoughmygrandmothertellsus
nottoplaywiththem,
shedoesn’tcallusintothehouseanymore
whensheseesthemwalkingdowntheroad.Maybe
herheartmovesoverabit
makingroomforthem.
Acolorfulmushroomgrows
beneaththepinetree.Purpleandgoldandstrange
againstthepine-needledground.
WhenIsteponit,
Coraandhersistersscreamatme,
YoujustkilledtheDevilwhilehewassleeping!
Sleepinginhisownhouse.
Corawarnsme
theDevilwillsoonbealiveagain.
Shesays,He’sgoingtocomeforyou,
lateinthenightwhileyou’resleeping
andtheGody’allpraytowon’tbethereprotectingyou.
Icryasthesunsets,waiting.
Cryuntilmygrandmothercomesout
shoosCoraandhersistershome
holdsmetight
tellsmetheyarelying.
That’sjustsomecrazysouthernsuperstition,
mygrandmothersays.
Thosegirlsmustbealittlesimplenotknowing
amushroomwhentheyseeone.
Don’tbelieveeverythingyouhear,Jackie.
Someday,you’llcometoknow
whensomeoneistellingthetruth
andwhenthey’rejustmakingupstories.
hallstreet
Intheearlyevening,justbeforethebestlight
forhide-and-seek
takesoverthesky,
it’sBible-studytime.Wewatch
fromourplacesonthefrontporch,ourcoldhands
cuppedaroundhotchocolate
halfgoneandsweetestatthebottom
astheBrotherandSister
fromtheKingdomHallmaketheirwayupourroad.
PrettyMondayevening,theBrother
fromtheKingdomHallsays.
ThankJehovah,theSister
fromtheKingdomHallsaysback.
Wearesilent,BrotherHope,SisterDellandme.
Noneofuswanttositinsidewhenthelateautumn
iscallingtous
andfrogsarefinallyfeelingbraveenough
tohopacrossouryard.Wewant
anythingbutthis.Wewantwarmbiscuits
andtagandjacksontheporch,
ourtoo-longsweatersleeves
gettinginthewaysometimes.
ButweareJehovah’sWitnesses.Mondaynight
isBible-studytime.
Somewhereelse,
mygrandfatheris
spendingtimewithhisbrotherVertie.
Maybetheyareplayingtheharmonicaandbanjo,
laughingandsingingloud.Doing
what’sfuntodoonaprettyMondayevening.
JehovahpromisesuseverlastinglifeintheNewWorld,
theBrotherfromtheKingdomHallsays
andBrotherHope,SisterDellandmearesilent
wantingonlywhat’srightoutside.
Wantingonlythisworld.
soon
Whenthephoneringsinmygrandmother ’skitchen,
werunfromwhereverweare,
jumpingfromthefrontporchswing
climbingoutofthemud-filledditchoutback,
runningquickfromthepicked-cleangarden—
but
mybrother,Hope,isthefastest,pickingupthephone,
pressingithard
againsthisearasthoughmymother ’svoice
justthatmuchclosermeansmymotheris
closertous.Wejumparoundhim:
Letmespeak!untilmygrandmothercomes
throughthescreendoor
putsdownthebasketoflaundry,coldanddry
fromtheline
takesthephonefrommybrother,
shushesus,
shoosus,
promisesus
amomentwithourmothersoon.
howilearnthedaysoftheweek
MondaynightisBiblestudywithaBrotherandSister
fromtheKingdomHall.
TuesdaynightisBiblestudyattheKingdomHall.
Wednesdaynightislaundrynight—theclothes
blowingcleanonthelineabove
mygrandfather ’sgarden.Whennooneislooking,
werunthroughthesheets,
breatheinallthewonderfulsmellstheair
addstothem.
ThursdaynightisMinistrySchool.Oneday,
wewillgrowuptopreach
God’sword,takeitout
intotheworld
andmaybewe’llsavesomepeople.
Fridaynight,we’refreeasanything,
HopeandDell’sbikesskiddingalongHallStreet,
mykneesbumpinghardagainstthehandlebars
ofmyredthree-wheeler.Onemoreyearmaybe
Dell’sbikewillbemine.
Saturdaywe’reupearly:TheWatchtowerandAwake!
inourhands,wewalklikesleepysoldiers
throughNicholtown,ringingbells,knockingondoors,
spreadingthegoodnews
ofsomethingbettercoming.Sometimes,
thepeoplelisten.
Sometimes,theyslamtheirdoors
ordon’topenthematall.Orlooksadlydownatme
ribbonedandstarched,myfacecleanandshining
withoil,mywordsearnestasanything:
Goodmorning,I’mSisterJacquelineandI’mhere
tobringyousomegoodnewstoday.
Sometimestheygivemeadimebutwon’ttake
myWatchtowerandAwake!
Sundayit’sWatchtowerstudyattheKingdomHall,
twohours
ofsittingandsittingandsitting.
ThenMondaycomesandtheweekstarts
alloveragain.
ribbons
Theyarepaleblueorpinkorwhite.
TheyareneatlyironedeachSaturdaynight.
ComeSundaymorning,theyaretiedtothebraids
hangingdownpastourears.
WewearribbonseverydayexceptSaturday
whenwewashthembyhand,DellandI
sidebysideatthekitchensink,
rubbingthemwithIvorysoapthenrinsingthem
beneathcoolwater.
Eachofus
dreamingofthedayourgrandmothersays
You’retoooldforribbons.
Butitfeelslikethatdaywillnevercome.
Whenwehangthemonthelinetodry,wehope
they’llblowawayinthenightbreeze
buttheydon’t.Comemorning,they’reright
whereweleftthem
gentlymovinginthecoolair,eagertoanchorus
tochildhood.
twogods.twoworlds
It’sbarelymorningandwe’realreadyawake,
mygrandmotherinthekitchenironing
ourSundayclothes.
IcanhearDaddycoughinginhisbed,acoughlike
he’llnevercatchhisbreath.Thesoundcatches
inmychestasI’mpullingmydress
overmyhead.Holdmyownbreath
untilthecoughingstops.Still,
Ihearhimpadthroughthelivingroom
hearthesqueakofthefrontscreendoorand
know,he’smadeittotheporchswing,
tosmokeacigarette.
Mygrandfatherdoesn’tbelieveinaGod
thatwon’tlethimsmoke
orhaveacoldbeeronaFridaynight
aGodthattellsusall
theworldisendingsothatY’allwalkthroughthisworld
afraidascats.
YourGodisnotmyGod,hesays.
Hiscoughmovesthroughtheair
backintoourroomwherethelight
isalmostblue,thewhitewintersunpaintingit.
Iwishthecoughingwouldstop.Iwish
hewouldputonSundayclothes,
takemyhand,walkwithus
downtheroad.
Jehovah’sWitnessesbelieve
thateveryonewhodoesn’tfollow
God’swordwillbedestroyedinagreatbattlecalled
Armageddon.Andwhenthebattleisdone
therewillbeafreshnewworld
anicermorepeacefulworld.
ButIwanttheworldwheremydaddyis
anddon’tknowwhy
anybody’sGodwouldmakeme
havetochoose.
whatgodknows
Weprayformygrandfather
askGodtosparehimeventhough
he’sanonbeliever.WeaskthatJehovahlook
intohisheart,see
thegoodnessthere.
Butmygrandfathersayshedoesn’tneedourprayers.
Iworkhard,hesays.ItreatpeoplelikeIwant
tobetreated.
Godseesthis.Godknows.
Attheendoftheday
helightsacigarette,unlaces
hisdustybrogans.Stretcheshislegs.
Godseesmygood,hesays.
Doallthepreachingandprayingyouwant
butnoneedtodoitforme.
newplaymates
BeautifulbrowndollscomefromNewYorkCity,
fancystoresmymotherhaswalked
into.Shewritesofelevators,trainstations,
buildingssohigh,theyhurt
thenecktosee.
Shewritesofplaceswithbeautifulnames
ConeyIsland,Harlem,Brownsville,BearMountain.
Shetellsusshe’sseentheocean,howthewater
keepsgoinglongaftertheeyescan’tseeitanymore
promisesawholeothercountry
ontheotherside.
Shetellsusthetoystoresarefilledwithdolls
ofeverysizeandcolor
there’sabarbershopandahairsaloneverywhere
youlook
andafriendofAuntKay’ssawLenaHorne
justwalkingdownthestreet.
Butonlythedollsarerealtous.
Theirblackhairinstiffcurlsdown
overtheirshoulders,
theirpinkdressesmadeofcrinolineandsatin.
Theirdarkarmsunbending.
Still
wehugtheirhardplasticcloseandimagine
they’recallingusMama
imaginetheyneedusnear.
Imaginethelettersfromourownmother—
Comingtogetyousoon—
areoneswe’rewritingtothem.
Wewillneverleaveyou,wewhisper.
Theystarebackatus,
blank-eyedandbeautiful
silentandstill.
downtheroad
Becarefulwhenyouplaywithhim,
mygrandmotherwarnsusabouttheboy
withtheholeinhisheart.
Don’tmakehimruntoofast.Orcry.
Whenhetapsonourbackdoor,wecomeout
sitquietlywithhimonthebackstairs.
Hedoesn’ttalkmuch,thisboywiththehole
inhisheart
butwhenhedoes,it’stoaskusaboutourmother
inNewYorkCity.
Issheafraidthere?
Didsheevermeetamoviestar?
Dothebuildingsreally
goonandon?
Oneday,hesays—sosoft,mybrother,sisterandI
leanintohear—I’mgonnagotoNewYorkCity.
Thenhelooksoff,towardCora’shousedowntheroad.
That’ssouth,mysistersays.NewYork’stheotherway.
god’spromise
ItisnearlyChristmastime.
Ontheradio,amanwithasoftdeepvoiceissinging
tellingustohaveourselvesamerrylittle...
NicholtownwindowsarefilledwithChristmastrees.
Coraandhersistersbragaboutwhattheyaregetting,
dollsandskatesandswingsets.Inthebackyard
ourownswingsetissilent—
athinlayerofsnowcoveringit.
WhenwearemadetostayinsideonSunday
afternoons,
Coraandhersistersdescenduponit,taketheswings
uphigh,
sticktheirtonguesoutatus
aswestarefrombehindourglassed-inscreendoor.
Letthemplay,forheaven’ssake,mygrandmothersays,
whenwecomplainaboutthemtearingitapart.
Yourheartsarebiggerthanthat!
Butourheartsaren’tbiggerthanthat.
Ourheartsaretinyandmad.
Ifourheartswerehands,they’dhit.
Ifourheartswerefeet,they’dsurelykicksomebody!
theotherinfinity
Wearethechosenpeople,ourgrandmothertellsus.
Everythingwedoisapart
ofGod’splan.EverybreathyoubreatheisthegiftGod
isgivingyou.Everythingweown...
Daddygaveustheswings,mysistertellsher.NotGod.
Mygrandmother ’swordscomeslowlymeaning
thislessonisanimportantone.
WiththemoneyheearnedbyworkingatajobGod
gavehimabodystrongenoughtoworkwith.
Outside,ourswingsetisemptyfinally,
Coraandhersistersnowgone.
Hope,DellandIaresilent.
Somuchwedon’tyetunderstand.
Somuchwedon’tyetbelieve.
Butweknowthis:
Monday,Tuesday,Thursday,
SaturdayandSundayarereserved
forGod’swork.Weareputheretodoit
andweareexpectedtodoitwell.
Whatispromisedtousinreturn
iseternity.
It’sthesame,mysistersays,
ormaybeevenbetterthan
infinity.
Theemptyswingsetremindsusofthis—
thatwhatisbadwon’tbebadforever,
andwhatisgoodcansometimeslast
along,longtime.
EvenCoraandhersisterscanonlybotherus
foralittlewhilebeforetheygetcalledhome
tosupper.
sometimes,nowordsareneeded
Deepwinterandthenightairiscold.Sostill,
itfeelsliketheworldgoesonforeverinthedarkness
untilyoulookupandtheearthstops
inaceilingofstars.Myheadagainst
mygrandfather ’sarm,
ablanketaroundusaswesitonthefrontporchswing.
Itswhinelikeasong.
Youdon’tneedwords
onanightlikethis.Justthewarmth
ofyourgrandfather ’sarm.Justthesilentpromise
thattheworldasweknowit
willalwaysbehere.
theletter
ThelettercomesonaSaturdaymorning,
mysisteropensit.Mymother ’shandwriting
iseasy,mysistersays.Shedoesn’twriteinscript.
Shewritessowecanunderstandher.
Andthenshereadsmymother ’sletterslowly
whileHopeandIsitatthekitchentable,
cheesegritsneargone,scrambledeggs
leavingyellowdots
inourbowls.Mygrandmother ’sbelovedbiscuits
forgotten.
She’scomingforus,mysistersaysandreadsthepart
wheremymothertellshertheplan.
We’rereallyleavingGreenville,mysistersays
andHopesitsupstraighter
andsmiles.Butthenthesmileisgone.
Howcanwehavebothplaces?
Howcanweleave
allthatwe’veknown—
meonDaddy’slapintheearlyevening,
listeningtoHopeandDelltellstories
abouttheirlivesatthesmallschool
amiledowntheroad.
IwillbefiveonedayandtheNicholtownschool
isamystery
I’mjustabouttosolve.
Andwhataboutthefirefliesandditches?
Andwhataboutthenightswhen
weallclimbintoourgrandparents’bed
andtheymoveapart,makingroomforus
inthemiddle.
Andmaybethat’swhenmysisterreadsthepart
Idon’thear:
ababycoming.Anotherone.Abrotherorsister.
Stillinherbellybutcomingsoon.
She’scomingtogetus,mysistersaysagain,
lookingaround
ourbigyellowkitchen.Thenrunningherhand
overthehardwoodtable
asthoughshe’salreadygone
andtryingtorememberthis.
onemorning,latewinter
Thenonemorningmygrandfatheristoosick
towalkthehalfmiletothebus
thattakeshimtowork.
Hestaysinbedforthewholeday
wakingonlytocough
andcough
andcough.
Iwalkslowaroundhim
fluffinghispillows,
pressingcoolclothsoverhisforehead
tellinghimthestoriesthatcometome
againandagain.
ThisIcando—findhimanotherplacetobe
whenthisworldischokinghim.
Tellmeastory,hesays.
AndIdo.
newyorkbaby
Whenmymotherreturns,
Iwillnolongerbeherbabygirl.
Iamsittingonmygrandmother ’slap
whenshetellsmethis,
alreadysotallmylegsdanglefardown,thetips
ofmytoestouchingtheporchmat.Myhead
restsonhershouldernowwhereonce,
itcameonlytohercollarbone.Shesmellstheway
shealwaysdoes,ofPine-Solandcotton,
DixiePeachhairgreaseandsomething
warmandpowdery.
IwanttoknowwhosebabygirlI’llbe
whenmymother ’snewbabycomes,bornwhere
thesidewalkssparkleandmejustaregulargirl.
Ididn’tknowhowmuchIloved
beingeveryone’sbabygirl
untilnowwhenmylifeasbabygirl
isnearlyover.
leavinggreenville
Mymotherarrivesinthemiddleofthenight,
andsleepily,wepileintoherarmsandholdtight.
Herkissonthetopofmyheadremindsme
ofallthatIlove.
Mostlyher.
Itislatewinterbutmygrandmotherkeeps
thewindowinourroomslightlyopen
sothatthecoldfreshaircanmoveoverus
aswesleep.Twothickquiltsandthethreeofus
sidebysidebyside.
Thisisallweknownow—
Coldpinebreezes,mygrandmother ’squilts,
theheatofthewood-burningstove,thesweet
slowvoicesofthepeoplearoundus,
reddustwafting,thensettlingasthoughit’ssaid
allthatitneedstosay.
Mymothertucksusbackintoourbedwhispering,
WehaveahomeupNorthnow.
IamtoosleepytotellherthatGreenvilleishome.
Thateveninthewintertime,thecrickets
singustosleep.
Andtomorrowmorning,you’llgettomeet
yournewbabybrother.
ButIamalreadymostlyasleepagain,twoarms
wrappedtight
aroundmymama’shand.
roman
Hisnameisasstrangeasheis,thisnewbabybrother
sopaleandquietandwide-eyed.Hesuckshisfist,
takinginallofuswithoutblinking.
Anotherboy,Hopesays,
nowit’seven-stevenaroundhere.
ButIdon’tlikethenewbabyofthefamily.
Iwanttosenditbacktowherever
babieslivebeforetheygethere.WhenIpinchhim,
aredmarkstaysbehind,andhiscryishighandtinny
asoundthathurtsmyears.
That’swhatyouget,mysistersays.
Hiscryingishimfightingyouback.
Thenshepickshimup,holdshimclose,
tellshimsoftlyeverything’sallright,
everything’salwaysgoingtobeallright
untilRomangetsquiet,
hiswideblackeyeslookingonlyatDell
asif
hebelievesher.
newyorkcity
Maybeit’sanotherNewYorkCity
thesouthernerstalkabout.Maybethat’swhere
thereismoneyfallingfromthesky,
diamondsspeckling
thesidewalks.
Herethereisonlygrayrock,cold
andtreelessasabaddream.Whocouldlove
thisplace—wherenopinetreesgrow,
noporchswingmoves
withtheweightof
yourgrandmother.
ThisplaceisaGreyhoundbus
hummingthroughthenightthenlettingout
adeepbreathinsideaplace
calledPortAuthority.Thisplaceisadriveryelling,
NewYorkCity,laststop.
Everybodyoff.
Thisplaceisloudandstrange
andnowhereI’mevergoingtocall
home.
brooklyn,newyork
Wedidnotstayinthesmallapartment
mymotherfoundonBristolStreet,
Brownsville,Brooklyn,USA.
Wedidnotstaybecausethedimbulbthathung
fromachainswungbackandforth
whenourupstairsneighborswalked
acrosstheirfloor,castingshadows
thatmademybrothercry
andsuckhardonhismiddlefingers.
Wedidnotstaybecausethebuildingwasbigandold
andwhenthebathroomceilingfell
intothebathtub,mymothersaid,
IamnotHennyPennyandthatisnotthesky!
SoshecalledAuntKayandherboyfriend,Bernie,
theyborrowedatruckandhelpeduspack,
bundledusupinwintercoats
turnedoffthatswinginglight
andgotusoutofthere!
herzlstreet
SowemovedtoHerzlStreet
whereAuntKayandBernielivedupstairs.
AndPeachesfromGreenvillelivedbelowus.
AndonSaturdaynightsmorepeople
fromGreenvillecameby
sittingandrunningtheirmouths
whilethepotsonthestovebubbled
withcollardsandsizzledwithchicken
andcornbreadbakedupbrown
insideKay’sbigblackoven.
AndthepeoplefromGreenville
broughtpeoplefromSpartanburg
andCharleston
andallofthemtalked
likeourgrandparentstalked
andatewhatweate
sotheywerereddirtandpinetrees
theywerefirefliesinjellyjars
andlemon-chiffonicecreamcones.
Theywerelaughteronhotcitynights
hotmilkoncoldcitymornings,
goodfoodandgoodtimes
fancydancingandsoulmusic.
Theywerefamily.
thejohnnypump
Somedayswemiss
thewaythereddirtliftedupandlanded
againstourbarefeet.Here
thesidewalksburnhotallsummerlong.
Herewewearshoes.Brokenbottles
don’talwaysgetsweptuprightaway.
Butourblockhasthreejohnnypumps
andaguywithawrench
toturnthemon.Onthedayswhentheheat
stopsyourbreath,hecomesuptheblock
pullingitoutofhispocket.Thenthejohnnypump
isblastingcoolwatereverywhere
andusandotherkidsrunningthroughit,
refreshedandlaughing.
Eventhegrown-upscomeoutsometimes.
Once,Isawmy
never-ever-barefoot-outside-in-the-citymother
takeoffhersandals,
standatthecurb
andletthecoolwaterrunoverherfeet.
Shewaslookingupatthetinypieceofsky.
Andshewassmiling.
genetics
Mymotherhasagapbetween
hertwofrontteeth.SodoesDaddyGunnar.
Eachchildinthisfamilyhasthesamespace
connectingus.
Ourbabybrother,Roman,wasbornpaleasdust.
Hissoftbrowncurlsandeyelashesstop
peopleonthestreet.
Whoseangelchildisthis?theywanttoknow.
WhenIsay,Mybrother,thepeople
weardoubt
thickasacape
untilwesmile
andthecapefalls.
carolinebut
wecalledherauntkay,
somememories
AuntKayatthetopofthestairs,herarmsopen,
hersmilewide
andusrunningtoher.
AuntKaydresseduponaFridaynight
smellingofperfume,
herboyfriend,Bernie,herfriendPeaches.
AuntKayinthekitchenwithPeachesandBernie
passingablue-and-whiteboxofArgostarch
backandforth,thehardwhitechunksofit,
disappearingintotheirmouthslikecandy,
theslowchewandswallow.
AuntKayandMamaandPeaches,intightskirts
singinginaband.
AuntKaybraidingmyhair.
AuntKayrunningupthestairstoherownapartment
andmerunningbehindher.
AuntKaylaughing.
AuntKayhuggingme.
Thenafall.
Acrowd.
Anambulance.
Mymother ’stears.
Afuneral.
Andhere,myAuntKaymemoriesend.
movingagain
Afterthefalling
thestairswereallwrongtous.
SomedaysIheadupthere,mymothersaid,
forgettingthatKayisgone.
Afterthefalling
BernieandPeaches
packedtheirbags,movedout
toFarRockaway,tellingmymother
howmuchKaylovedtheocean.
Afterthefalling
wetooktheAtrain
totheirnewapartment,playedonthebeach
tillthesunwentdown,Mamaquietonablanket
lookingoutatthewater.
Kaywasherbigsister,onlytenmonthsolder.
Everyonealwaysthoughttheyweretwins
sothat’swhattheysaidtheywere.
Couldn’tlookatoneofus,mymothersaid,
withoutseeingtheother.
Afterthefalling
thehallwaysmelled
likeKay’sperfume
wheneveritrained
sowemovedagain
tothesecondfloorofapinkhouse
onMadisonStreet.
Outfronttherewasafive-footsculpture
madefromgrayrock,
ivoryandsand.Asmallfountainsentwater
cascadingoverstatues
ofMary,JosephandJesus.
Peoplestoppedinfrontofthehouse,
crossedthemselves,mouthedasilentprayer
thenmovedon.
Thishouseisprotected,thelandlordtoldmymother.
Thesaintskeepussafe.
Thishouseisprotected,mymotherwhisperedtous.
BytheSaintofUglySculpture.
Afterthefalling
sometimesIwouldseemymother
smilingatthatsculpture.Andinhersmile,
therewasAuntKay’ssmile,thetwoofthem
havingasecretsisterlaugh,thetwoofthem
togetheragain.
compositionnotebook
Andsomehow,oneday,it’sjustthere
speckledblack-and-white,thepaper
insidesmellinglikesomethingIcouldfallrightinto,
livethere—insidethosecleanwhitepages.
Idon’tknowhowmyfirstcompositionnotebook
endedupinmyhands,longbeforeIcouldreallywrite
someonemusthaveknownthatthis
wasallIneeded.
HardnottosmileasIheldit,feltthebreeze
asIfannedthepages.
Mysisterthoughtmystandingthere
smilingwascrazy
didn’tunderstandhowthesmellandfeelandsight
ofbrightwhitepaper
couldbringmesomuchjoy.
Andwhydoessheneedanotebook?Shecan’tevenwrite!
Fordaysanddays,Icouldonlysniffthepages,
holdthenotebookclose
listentothesoundthepapersmade.
Nothingintheworldislikethis—
abrightwhitepagewith
palebluelines.Thesmellofanewlysharpenedpencil
thesofthushofit
movingfinally
oneday
intoletters.
Andeventhoughshe’ssmarterthananything,
thisissomething
mysistercan’tevenbegin
tounderstand.
onpaper
ThefirsttimeIwritemyfullname
JacquelineAmandaWoodson
withoutanybody’shelp
onacleanwhitepageinmycompositionnotebook,
Iknow
ifIwantedto
Icouldwriteanything.
Lettersbecomingwords,wordsgatheringmeaning,becoming
thoughtsoutsidemyhead
becomingsentences
writtenby
JacquelineAmandaWoodson
saturdaymorning
Somedaysinthisnewplace
thereisonlyaboxofpancakemix
anegg,andfaucetwater,thehiss
ofthosetogether
againstablackcast-ironpan,
thepancakesstickingtoit
syruplessbutedibleandus
complainingaboutitwishinglikeanything
wewerebackinGreenville,
wheretherewasalwayssomethinggood
toeat.Weremember
thecollardsgrowing
downsouth,themelons,freshpicked
anddrippingwithasweetnessNewYork
canneverknow.
Weeatwithoutcomplaining
orwhiningoraskingourmotherwhentherewillbe
syrup,butter,milk...
WerememberGreenville
withouther,countourblessingsinsilence
andchew.
firstgrade
Myhandinsidemysister ’shand,
wewalkthetwoblockstoP.S.106—
Iamsixyearsoldand
mysistertellsmeourschoolwasonceacastle.
Ibelieveher.Theschoolstretchesforafullcityblock.
Inside
marblestairswindtheirwaytoclassroomsfilled
withdarkwooddesks
naileddowntodarkwoodfloorspolishedtoahigh
andbeautifulshine.
Iaminlovewitheverythingaroundme,
thedottedwhitelinesmoving
acrossmyteacher ’sblackboard,thesmellofchalk,
theflagjuttingoutfromthewallandslowlyswaying
aboveme.
ThereisnothingmorebeautifulthanP.S.106.
Nothingmoreperfectthanmyfirst-gradeclassroom.
NoonemorekindthanMs.Feidler,whomeetsme
atthedooreachmorning,
takesmyhandfrommysister ’s,smilesdownandsays,
NowthatJacquelineishere,thedaycanfinallybegin.
AndIbelieveher.
Yes,Itrulybelieveher.
anotherkingdomhall
Becausemygrandmothercallsandasks
ifwe’respreadingJehovah’sword,
becausemymotherpromisesmygrandmother
she’llraiseusrightintheeyesofGod,
shefindsaKingdomHallonBushwickAvenue
sowecankeepourJehovah’sWitnessways.
EverySunday,weputonourKingdomHallclothes
pulloutourKingdomHallsatchels,
filledwithourKingdomHallbooks
andwalkthesevenblocks
totheKingdomHall.
ThisiswhatremindsusofGreenville,
theSaturday-nightpressingofsatinribbons,
Hopestrugglingwiththeknotinhistie,
ourhairoiledandpulledbackintobraids,
ourmother ’shandslesssure
thanourgrandmother ’s,thepartscrooked,thebraids
comingundone.Andnow,DellandI
arelefttoironourowndresses.
Myhands,
mymothersays,
asshestandsatthesink,holdingacryingRoman
withonehand,
herotherholdingabottleofmilk
underhotrunningwater,
arefull.
MymotherdropsusoffattheKingdomHalldoor,
watchesuswalk
downtheaisletowhereBrothersandSisters
arewaiting
tohelpusturnthepagesofourBibles,
leanovertosharetheirsongbookswithus,
pressLifeSaversintoourwaitinghands...
Thenourmotherisgone,backhome
ortoaparkbench,
whereshe’llsitandreaduntilthemeetingisover.
Shehasafull-timejobnow.Sunday,shesays,
isherdayofrest.
flag
Whenthekidsinmyclassaskwhy
Iamnotallowedtopledgetotheflag
ItellthemIt’sagainstmyreligionbutdon’tsay,
Iamintheworldbutnotoftheworld.This,
theywouldnotunderstand.
Eventhoughmymother ’snotaJehovah’sWitness,
shemakesusfollowtheirrulesand
leavetheclassroomwhenthepledgeisbeingsaid.
Everymorning,IwalkoutwithGinaandAlina
thetwootherWitnessesinmyclass.
Sometimes,Ginasays,
Maybeweshouldprayforthekidsinside
whodon’tknowthatGodsaid
“Nootheridolsbeforeme.”ThatourGod
isajealousGod.
Ginaisthetruebeliever.HerBibleopen
duringreadingtime.ButAlinaandIwalkthrough
ourrolesasWitnessesasthoughthisisthepart
we’vebeengiveninaplay
andonceoffstage,werunfree,sing
“AmericatheBeautiful”and“TheStar-SpangledBanner”
farawayfromourfamilies—knowingeveryword.
AlinaandIwant
morethananythingtowalkbackintoourclassroom
pressourhandsagainstourhearts.Say,
“Ipledgeallegiance...”loud
withoutourjealousGodlookingdownonus.
Withoutourparentsfindingout.
Withoutourmothers’voices
inourheadssaying,Youaredifferent.
Chosen.
Good.
Whenthepledgeisover,wewalksinglefile
backintotheclassroom,takeourseparateseats
AlinaandIfarawayfromGina.ButGina
alwayslooksbackatus—asiftosay,
I’mwatchingyou.Asiftosay,
Iknow.
becausewe’rewitnesses
NoHalloween.
NoChristmas.
Nobirthdays.
Evenwhen
otherkidslaughasweleavetheclassroom
justasthebirthdaycupcakesarrive
wepretendwedonotseethechocolatefrosting,
pretendwedonotwant
topressourfingertipsagainst
eachcolorfulsprinkleandliftthem,
onebysweetone
toourmouths.
Novoting.
Nofighting.
Nocursing.
Nowars.
Wewillnevergotowar.
Wewillnevertastethesweetnessofaclassroom
birthdaycupcake
Wewillnevertastethebitternessofabattle.
brooklynrain
Therainhereisdifferentthantheway
itrainsinGreenville.Nosweetsmellofhoneysuckle.
Nosoftsquishofpine.Noslipandslidethroughgrass.
JustMamasaying,Stayinsidetoday.It’sraining,
andmeatthewindow.Nothingtodobut
watch
thegraysidewalkgrowdarker,
watch
thedropsslidedowntheglasspane,
watch
peoplebelowmemovefast,headsbent.
Alreadytherearestories
inmyhead.Alreadycolorandsoundandwords.
AlreadyI’m
drawingcirclesontheglass,humming
myselfsomeplacefarawayfromhere.
Downsouth,therewasalwayssomeplaceelsetogo
youcouldstepoutintotherainand
Grandmawouldletyou
liftyourheadandstickoutyourtongue
behappy.
Downsouthalreadyfeelslikealongtimeago
butthestoriesinmyhead
takemebackthere,setmedowninDaddy’sgarden
wherethesunisalwaysshining.
anotherway
WhileourfriendsarewatchingTVorplayingoutside,
weareinourhouse,knowingthatbeggingourmother
toturnthetelevisiononisuseless,beggingherfor
tenminutesoutsidewillonlymeanhersaying,
No.Saying,
Youcanrunwildwithyourfriendsanytime.Today
Iwantyoutofindanotherwaytoplay.
Andthenonedaymymother
comeshomewithtwoshoppingbags
filledwithboardgames—Monopoly,checkers,chess,
AntsinthePants,Sorry,Trouble,
justabouteverygamewe’veeverseen
inthecommercialsbetween
ourSaturdaymorningcartoons.
Somanygames,wedon’tknow
wheretobeginplaying,soweletRomanchoose.
AndhechoosesTrouble
becausehelikesthesoundthediemakes
whenitpopsinside
itsplasticbubble.Andfordaysanddays,
itisChristmasinNovember,
gamestoplaywhenourhomeworkisdone,
Monopolymoneytocount
andcheckerstoslamdownonboards,antstoflip
intoblueplasticpants,
chesspiecestopracticemovinguntilweunderstand
theirpower
andwhenwedon’t,RomanandIargue
thatthere’sanotherwaytoplay
calledOurWay.ButHopeandDelltellus
thatwe’retooimmaturetoevenbegintounderstand
thenbendoverthechessboardinsilence,eachbecoming
thenextchesschampofthehouse,dependingontheday
andthewaythegameisplayed.
Sometimes,RomanandIleaveHopeandDellalone
gotoanothercorneroftheroomandbecome
whattheotherscallus—thetwoyoungest,
playinggamesweknowtherulesto
tic-tac-toeandcheckers,
hangmanandconnectthedots
butmostly,weleanovertheirshoulders
asquietlyaswecan,watching
waiting
wantingtounderstand
howtoplayanotherway.
gifted
Everyoneknowsmysister
isbrilliant.Theletterscomehomefoldedneatly
insideofficial-lookingenvelopesthatmysisterproudly
handsovertomymother.
Odellahasachieved
Odellahasexcelledat
Odellahasbeenrecommendedto
Odella’soutstandingperformancein
Sheisgifted
wearetold.
AndIimaginepresentssurroundingher.
Iamnotgifted.WhenIread,thewordstwist
twirlacrossthepage.
Whentheysettle,itistoolate.
Theclasshasalreadymovedon.
Iwanttocatchwordsoneday.Iwanttoholdthem
thenblowgently,
watchthemfloat
rightoutofmyhands.
sometimes
Thereisonlyoneotherhouseonourblock
whereafatherdoesn’tlive.Whensomebodyaskswhy,
theboysays,Hedied.
Thegirllooksoff,downtheblock,herthumb
slowlyrisingtohermouth.Theboysays,
Iwasababy.Says,Shedoesn’trememberhim
andpointstohissilentsister.
Sometimes,Ilieaboutmyfather.
Hedied,Isay,inacarwreckor
Hefelloffarooformaybe
He’scomingsoon.
Nextweekand
nextweekand
nextweek...but
ifmysister ’snearby
sheshakesherhead.Says,
She’smakingupstoriesagain.
Says,
Wedon’thaveafatheranymore.
Says,
Ourgrandfather’sourfathernow.
Says,
Sometimes,that’sthewaythingshappen.
unclerobert
UncleRoberthasmovedtoNewYorkCity!
Ihearhimtakingthestairs
twoatatimeandthen
heisatourdoor,knockinglouduntilourmother
opensit,
curlersinherhair,robepulledclosed,whispering,
It’salmostmidnight,don’tyouwakemychildren!
Butwearealreadyawake,allfourofus,smiling
andjumpingaround
myuncle:What’dyoubringme?
Ourmamashushesus,says,
It’stoolateforpresentsandthelike.
Butwewantpresentsandthelike.
Andshe,too,issmilingnow,happytoseeher
babybrotherwholivesallthewayover
inFarRockawaywheretheoceanisrightthere
ifyoulookoutyourwindow.
Robertopenshishandtorevealapairofsilverearrings,
saystomysister,Thisisagiftforhowsmartyouare.
Iwant
tobesmartlikeDell,Iwant
someonetohandmesilverandgold
justbecausemybrainclicksintothinkingwhenever
itneedstobut
IamnotsmartlikeDellsoIwatchherpress
thesilvermoonsintoherears
Isay,Iknowagirltentimessmarterthanher.Shegets
diamondseverytimeshegetsahundredonatest.
AndRobertlooksatme,hisdarkeyessmiling,asks,
Isthatsomethingyoumadeup?Orsomethingreal?
Inmyownhead,
it’srealasanything.
Inmyhead
allkindsofpeoplearedoingallkindsofthings.
Iwanttotellhimthis,that
theworldwe’relivinginrighthereinBushwickisn’t
theonlyplace.Butnowmybrothersareasking,
What’dyoubringme,andmyuncleispullinggifts
fromhispockets,
fromhisleatherbriefcase,frominsidehissocks.
Hehands
mymotherarecord,asmall45—JamesBrown,
whononeofus
likebecausehescreamswhenhesings.Butmymother
putsitontherecordplayer,turnedwaydownlow
andthenevenuskidsaredancingaround—
Robertshowingusthestepshelearned
attheFarRockawayparties.Hisfeetaremagic
andwealltrytoslideacrossthefloorlikehedoes,
ourownfeet,againandagain,
betrayingus.
Teachus,Robert!wekeepsaying.Teachus!
wishes
Whenhetakesustothepark,UncleRoberttellsus,
Ifyoucatchadandelionpuff,youcanmakeawish.
Anythingyouwantwillcometrue,hesaysas
wechasethefeatherywishesaroundswings,
beneathslidingboards,
untilwecanholdtheminourhands,
closeoureyestight,whisperourdream
thensetitfloatingoutintotheuniversehoping
ouruncleistellingthetruth,
hopingeachthingwewishfor
willonedaycometrue.
believing
Thestoriesstartlikethis—
JackandJillwentupahill,myunclesings.
Iwentupahillyesterday,Isay.
Whathill?
Inthepark.
Whatpark?
HalseyPark.
Whowaswithyou?
Nobody.
Butyou’renotallowedtogototheparkwithoutanyone.
Ijustdid.
Maybeyoudreamedit,myunclesays.
No,Ireallywent.
AndmyunclelikesthestoriesI’mmakingup.
...Alongcameaspiderandsatdownbesideher.
Igotbitbyaspider,Isay.
When?
Theotherday.
Where?
Rightonmyfoot.
Showus.
It’sgonenow.
Butmymotheraccusesmeoflying.
Ifyoulie,shesays,onedayyou’llsteal.
Iwon’tsteal.
It’shardtounderstandhowoneleadstotheother,
howstoriescouldever
makeuscriminals.
It’shardtounderstand
thewaymybrainworks—sodifferent
fromeverybodyaroundme.
Howeachnewstory
I’mtoldbecomesathing
thathappens,
insomeotherway
tome...!
Keepmakingupstories,myunclesays.
You’relying,mymothersays.
Maybethetruthissomewhereinbetween
allthatI’mtold
andmemory.
off-key
WestarteachmeetingatKingdomHallwithasong
andaprayer
butwe’realwayslate,
walkinginwhenthepinksongbooksarealreadyopen,
lookingovershoulders,askingBrothersandSisters
tohelpusfindourplace.
Ifit’sasongIlike,Isinglouduntilmysistershushesme
withafingertohermouth.
MywholefamilyknowsIcan’tsing.Myvoice,
mysistersays,isjustleftofthekey.Justright
ofthetune.
ButIsinganyway,wheneverIcan.
EventheboringWitnesssongssoundgoodtome,
thewords
tellingushowGodwantsustobehave,
whathewantsustodo,
Begladyounationswithhispeople!Gopreach
fromdoortodoor!
ThegoodnewsofJehovah’skingdom—
Proclaimfromshoretoshore!
It’sthemusicaroundthewordsthatIhear
inmyhead,eventhough
everyoneswearsIcan’thearit.
Strangethattheydon’thear
whatIhear.
Strangethatitsoundssoright
tome.
eveandthesnake
TheSundaysermonsaregivenbymen.
Womenaren’tallowedtogetonstagelikethis,
standingalonetotellGod’sstory.Idon’t
understandwhybutIlistenanyway:
Onthefirstday,Godmadetheheavensandtheearth
andHelookedatit,anditwasgood.
It’salongstory.It’sagoodstory.
AdamandEvegotmade,
asnakeappearedinatree.Atalkingsnake.
ThenEvehadtomakeachoice—theapplethesnake
wantedhertoeat
lookedsogood—justonebite.Butitwastheonlyapple
inakingdomfullofapples
thatGodhadsaidDon’ttouch!
It’sthebestappleinalltheworld,thesnakesaid.
Goaheadandtasteit.Godwon’tcare.
Butweknowtheending—inourheads,wescream,
Don’tdoit,Eve!That’stheDevilinsidethatsnake!
He’strickingyou!
ButEvetookabite.Andsohereweare,
sittinginaKingdomHall
onabeautifulSundayafternoon
hopingthatGodseesitinHishearttoknow
itwasn’tourfault.Giveusanotherchance
sendthatsnakebackandwepromise
we’llsaynothistime!
ourfather,fadingaway
Inallourmoving,we’veforgottenourfamilyinOhio,
forgottenourfather ’svoice,theslowdrawl
ofhiswords,
thewayheandhisbrotherDavidmadejokes
thatweren’tfunny
andlaughedasthoughtheywere.
Weforgetthecolorofhisskin—wasit
darkbrownlikemineorlighterlikeDell’s?
DidhehaveHopeandDell’sloosecurlsormy
tighter,kinkierhair?
Washisvoicedeeporhigh?
WasheahuggerlikeGrandmaGeorgianaholdingus
likesheneverplannedtoletgoor
didhehughardandfastlikeMama,
plantingherwarmlipstoourforeheadswhere
thekisslingered
longafter
shesaidIloveyou,pulledhersweateronandleft
forworkeachmorning.
InBrooklyntherearenomorecallsfromOhio.
NomorecallsfromourfatherorGrandpaHope
orGrandmaGrace
orDavidorAnneorAdaorAlicia.
Itisasifeachfamily
hasdisappearedfromtheother.
Soon,someonewhoknowssomeoneinOhio
whoknowstheWoodsons
tellsmymotherthatGrandpaHopehasdied.
Atdinnerthatevening,ourmothergivesusthenewsbut
wekeepeatingbecausewehadn’tknown
hewasstillalive.
Andforamoment,IthinkaboutJack...ourfather.
Butthen
quicklyasitcomes
thethoughtmoveson.
Outofsight,outofmind,mybrothersays.
Butonlyapartofmebelievesthisistrue.
halfwayhome#2
Foralongtime,thereisonlyonetreeonourblock.
Andthoughitstillfeels
strangetobesofarawayfromsoftdirt
beneathbarefeet
thegroundisfirmhereandtheonetreeblooms
wideenoughtoshadefourbuildings.
Thecityissettlingaroundme,mywords
comefastnow
whenIspeak,thesoftcurloftheSouthonmytongue
isneargone.
Whoarethesecitychildren?Mygrandmotherlaughs,
herownvoice
sadandfarawayonthephone.Butitis
along-distancecall
fromGreenvilletoBrooklyn,toomuchmoney
andnotenoughtimetoexplain
thatNewYorkCityisgrayrock
andquick-movingcars.
Thatthetrafficlightschangefastandmysistermust
holdtighttomyhand
aswecrosstowhereasmallmansinging
Piragua!Piragua!
sellsshavedicesfromawhitecartfilled
withbottlesandbottlesoffruit-flavoredsyrup
coloredredandpurple,orangeandblue.
Thatourmouthswaterinthehotsunaswehandhim
ourquartersthenwaitpatientlyashepours
thesyrupovertheice,handsittous
inpapercones.
We’llbecominghomesoon,Grandma
eachofuspromises.
Weloveyou.
Andwhenshesays,Iloveyou,too
theSouthissoheavyinhermouth
myeyesfillupwiththemissingof
everythingandeveryone
I’veeverknown.
thepainteater
Inthenightinthecornerofthebedroom
thefourofusshare,
comesapick,pick,pickingofplaster
paintgonecomemorning.
Myyoungerbrother,Roman,
can’texplainwhypaintmelting
onhistonguefeelsgood.
Still,heeatsthepaint
andplasteruntilawhitehole
growswherepalegreenpaintusedtobe.
Andtoolatewecatchhim,
hisfingersinhismouth,
hislipscoveredwithdust.
chemistry
WhenHopespeaks,it’salwaysaboutcomicbooks
andsuperheroes
untilmymothertellshimhehastotalk
aboutsomethingelse.
Andthenit’sscience.Hewantstoknow
everything
aboutrocketsandmedicineandthegalaxy.
Hewantstoknowwheretheskyendsandhow,
whatdoesitfeellikewhengravity’sgone
andwhatisthefoodmeneat
onthemoon.Hisquestionscomesofast
andsooftenthatweforgethowquiet
heoncewasuntilmymother
buyshimachemistryset.
Andthenforhoursafterschooleachday
hemakespotions,mixingchemicalsthatstinkup
thehouse,causingsparkstofly
fromshavedbitsofiron,
puffsofsmoketopopfromstrange-coloredliquids.
Wearefascinatedbyhim,goggledandbent
overthestove
aclampedtesttubeprotruding
fromhisglovedhand.
Onthedayswhenourmothersays
shedoesn’twanthimsmellingupthehouse
withhispotions,hetakeshistrainsapart,studies
eachtinypiece,thenslowlyputsthemtogetheragain.
Wedon’tknowwhatitishe’slookingfor
ashesearchestheinsidesofthings,studies
thewaythingschange.EachwhisperedWow
fromhimmakesmethinkthathe
withhissearching—andDellwithherreading
andevenRomanwithhistryingtoeat
totheothersideofourwalls—islooking
forsomething.SomethingwaypastBrooklyn.
Something
out
there.
babyinthehouse
Andthenoneday,Romanwon’tgetup,
suncominginbright
throughthebedroomwindow,therestofus
dressedandreadytogooutside.
Nolaughter—justtearswhenweholdhim.
Morecryingwhenweputhimdown.
Won’teatandevenmymother
can’thelphim.
Whenshetakeshimtothehospital,shecomesback
alone.
Andformanydaysafterthat,thereisnobaby
inourhouseandIamfinally
thebabygirlagain,wishing
Iwasn’t.Wishingtherewasn’tsomuchquiet
wheremybrother ’slaughusedtobe,wishing
thetruebabyinourhouse
washome.
goinghomeagain
JulycomesandRoberttakesusonthenighttrain
backtoSouthCarolina.Wekiss
ourbabybrothergood-byeinhishospitalbedwhere
hereachesout,criestocomewithus.
Hiswordsareweakaswater,nomore
thanawhisperwithsomuchairaroundthem.
I’mcomingtoo,hesays.
Butheisn’tcoming.
Notthistime.
Mymothersaysthereisleadinhisblood
fromthepainthefindsawaytopick
andeatoffourbedroomwall
everytimeourbacksareturned.
Smallholesgrow,likewhitestarsagainst
thegreenpaint,coveredagainandagain
byourmother.Butstill,hefindsaway.
Eachofushugshim,promises
tobringhimcandyandtoys.
Promiseswewon’thavefundownsouth
withouthim.
Eachofusleansin
forourmother ’skissonourforehead,
herwarmlips,alreadyamemory
thateachofuscarrieshome.
homeagaintohallstreet
Mygrandmother ’skitchenisthesame
bigandyellowandsmellingofthepoundcake
she’smadetowelcomeusback.
Andnowinthelateafternoon,sheisstanding
atthesink,tearingcollardsbeneath
coolrunningwater,whilethecrowscawoutside,
andthesunsinksslowintoredandgold
WhenHopeletsthescreendoorslam,
shefusses,
Boy,don’tyouslammydooragain!andmybrothersays,
I’msorry.
Justlikealways.
Soon,there’llbelemonadeontheporch,
theswingwhiningthesameearlyeveningsong
italwayssings
mybrotherandsisterwiththecheckersetbetweenthem
menexttomygrandfather,fallingasleepagainst
histhinshoulder.
Andit’snotevenstrangethatitfeelstheway
it’salwaysfelt
liketheplacewebelongto.
Likehome.
mrs.hughes’shouse
InGreenville,mygrandfatheristoosick
toworkanymore,somygrandmotherhasafull-timejob.
NowwespendeverydayfromJuly
untilthemiddleofAugust
atMrs.Hughes’sNurseryandDaySchool.
Eachmorning,wewalkthelongdustyroad
toMrs.Hughes’shouse—large,whitestone,
withayardcirclingandchickenspeckingatourfeet.
Beyondtheyardthere’scollardsandcorngrowing
ascarecrow,blacksnakes,andwhip-poor-wills.
Sheisabigwoman,tall,yellow-skinnedandthick
asawall.
Iholdtighttomygrandmother ’shand.Maybe
Iamcrying.
Mygrandmotherdropsusoffand
theotherkidscirclearoundus.Laughingat
ourhair,ourclothes,thenamesourparents
havegivenus,
ourcitywayoftalking—toofast,toomanywords
tohearatonce
toomanybigwordscomingoutof
mysister ’smouth.
Iamalwaysthefirsttocry.Agentleslapontheside
ofmyhead,asecretpinch,
girlscirclingaroundmesinging,Whostolethecookie
fromthecookiejarand
pointing,asthoughthesongistrue,atme.
Mysister ’stearsareslowtocome.Butwhentheydo,
itisn’tsadness.
It’ssomethingdifferentthatsendsherswinging
herfistswhen
theothersyankherbraidsuntilthesatin,
newlyironedribbonsbelongtothem,
hiddenawayinthedeeppocketsoftheirdresses,
tuckedinto
theirsaggingstockings,buriedinsidetheir
silverlunchpails.
Hopeissilent—hisname,theysay,belongstoagirl,
hisears,theylaugh
stickouttoofarfromhishead.
Ourfeetarebeginningtobelong
intwodifferentworlds—Greenville
andNewYork.Wedon’tknowhowtocome
home
andleave
home
behindus.
howtolisten#4
Kidsaremean,Dellsays.
Justturnaway.Pretendwe
knowbetterthanthat.
fieldservice
Saturdaymorning’sthehardestdayforusnow.
Forthreehourswemovethrough
thestreetsofNicholtown,
knockingonstrangers’doors,hopingtoconvert
themintoSistersandBrothersandchildrenofGod.
ThissummerIamallowedtoknockonmyfirstdoor
alone.Anoldwomananswers,smileskindlyatme.
Whataspecialchildyouare,shesays.
Sky-blueribbonsinmyhair,myWatchtowerheldtight
inmywhite-glovedhand,
thebluelinendressafriendofmygrandmother ’s
hasmadeformestoppingjustabovemyknees.
MynameisJacquelineWoodson,Inearlywhisper,
mythroatsuddenlydry
voiceneargone.
I’mheretobringyousomegoodnewstoday...
Wellhowmuchdoesyourgoodnewscost,thewoman
wantstoknow.
Adime.
Sheshakesherheadsadly,closesherdooramoment
tosearchbeneathatrunkwhereshehopes
she’sdroppedacoinortwo.
Butwhenshecomesback,therearenocoins
inherhand.
OhI’dlovetoreadthatmagazine,shesays.
Ijustdon’thavemoney.
Andformanydaysmyhearthurtswiththesadness
thatsuchanicewomanwillnotbeapartofGod’s
newworld.
Itisn’tfair,Isaytomygrandmotherwhen
somanydayshavepassed.
Iwanttogoback.Iwanttogivehersomething
forfree.
Butwe’redonenowwiththatstripofNicholtown.
NextSaturday,we’llbesomewhereelse.
AnotherWitnesswillgothere,mygrandmotherpromises.
Byandby,shesays,thatwomanwillfindherway.
sundayafternoononthefrontporch
Acrosstheroad,
MissBellhastiedablue-checkedsunbonnet
beneathherchin,liftsherheadfromherbed
ofazaleasandwavestomygrandmother.
Iamsittingbesideheronthefrontporchswing,Hope
andDellleaningbackagainstthewoodbeam
atthetopofthefrontporchstairs.Itisas
thoughwehavealwaysbeeninthisposition,
thefrontporchswingmovinggentlybackandforth,
thesunwarmonourfaces,thedayonlyhalfwayover.
Iseeyourgrandsarebackforthesummer,
MissBellsays.Gettingbig,too.
ItisSundayafternoon.
Outback,mygrandfatherpullsweedsfromhisgarden,
digssoftlyintotherichearthtoaddnewmelonseeds.
Wondering
ifthistime,they’llgrow.Allthishedoesfrom
asmallchair,acanebesidehim.
Hemovesasifunderwater,coughs
hardandlongintoahandkerchief,callsoutforHope
whenheneedsthechairmoved,seesmewatching,
andshakeshishead.I’mcatchingyouworrying,hesays.
Tooyoungforthat.Sojustcutitoutnow,youhear?
Hisvoice
sostrongandcleartoday,Ican’thelpsmiling.
SoonI’llrisefromtheporch,
changeoutofmyKingdomHallclothesinto
apairofshortsandacottonblouse
trademypatent-leatherMaryJanesforbarefeet
andjoinmygrandfatherinthegarden.
Whattookyousolong,he’llsay.Iwasabouttoturn
thiseartharoundwithoutyou.
Soon,it’llbeneareveningandDaddyandI
willwalkslow
backintothehousewhereI’llpulltheEpsomsalt
fromtheshelf
fillthedishpanwithwarmwater,massage
hisswellinghands.
Butfornow,IsitlisteningtoNicholtownsettle
aroundme,
praythatonedayRomanwillbewellenough
toknowthismoment.
Praythatwewillalwayshavethis—thefrontporch,
mygrandfatherinthegarden,
awomaninablue-checkedsunbonnet
movingthroughazaleas...
Prettychildren,MissBellsays.
ButGoddon’tmakethemnootherkindaway.
homethenhomeagain
Toofast,oursummerinGreenville
isending.
Already,thephonecallsfrommymother
arefilledwithplansforcominghome.
Wemiss
ourlittle’sbrother ’slaughter,theway
herunstousattheendoftheschooldayasif
we’vebeengoneforever.Thewayhissmallhands
curlaroundourswhenwewatchTV.Holding
tightthroughthescaryparts,untilwetellhim
Scooby-Doowillsavetheday,
BugsBunnywillgetaway,
Underdogwillarrivebeforethetrainhits
SweetPollyPurebred.
Wedragourfeetbelowourswings,
ourarmswrappedlazilyaroundthemetallinks
nolongerfascinatedbythenewness
oftheset,thewayweclimbedallovertheslide,
pumpedourlegshard—towardheavenuntil
theswingsetshookwiththeweightofusliftingit
fromtheground.
Nextsummer,mygrandfathersaid,I’llcementitdown.
Butinthemeantime
youallswinglow.
Oursuitcasessitatthefootofourbed,open
slowlyfillingwithfreshlywashedsummerclothes,
eachblouse,eachpairofshorts,eachfadedcottondress
holdingastorythatwe’lltellagainandagain
allwinterlong.
family
Inthebooks,there’salwaysahappilyeverafter.
Theuglyducklinggrowsintoaswan,Pinocchio
becomesaboy.
ThewitchgetschuckedintotheovenbyGretel,
theSelfishGiantgoestoheaven.
EvenWinniethePoohseemstoalwaysgethishoney.
LittleRedRidingHood’sgrandmotherisfreed
fromthebellyofthewolf.
Whenmysisterreadstome,Iwaitforthemoment
whenthestorymovesfaster—towardthehappyending
thatIknowiscoming.
OnthebushomefromGreenville,Iwaketothealmost
happyending,mymotherstandingatthestation,Roman
inhisstroller,hissmilebright,hisarmsreachingforus
butweseethewhitehospitalbandlikeabracelet
onhiswrist.Tomorrowhewillreturnthere.
Wearenotallfinallyandsafely
home.
oneplace
Foralongtime,ourlittlebrother
goesbackandforthtothehospital,hisbody
weakfromthelead,hisbrain
notdoingwhatabrainissupposedtodo.Wedon’t
understandwhyhe’ssosmall,hastubes
comingfromhisarms,sleepsandsleeps...
whenwevisithim.
Butoneday,
hecomeshome.Theholesinthewall
arecoveredoverandleft
unpainted,hisbedpulledawayfromtemptation,
nothingforhimtopeelaway.
Heisfournow,curlslonggone,hisdarkbrownhair
straightasabone,strangetousbut
ourlittlebrother,thefourofusagain
inoneplace.
maria
LateAugustnow
homefromGreenvilleandready
forwhatthelastofthesummerbringsme.
Allthedreamsthiscityholds
rightoutside—juststepthroughthedoorandwalk
twodoorsdowntowhere
mynewbestfriend,Maria,lives.Everymorning,
Icalluptoherwindow,Comeoutside
orsheringsourbell,Comeoutside.
Herhairiscrazilycurlingdownpastherback,
theSpanishshespeakslikeasong
Iamlearningtosing.
Miamiga,Maria.
Maria,myfriend.
howtolisten#5
Whatisyouronedream,
myfriendMariaasksme.
Youronewishcometrue?
tomboy
Mysister,Dell,readsandreads
andneverlearns
tojumpropeor
playhandballagainstthefactorywallonthecorner.
Neverlearnstosprint
barefootdowntheblock
tobecome
thefastestgirl
onMadisonStreet.
Doesn’tlearn
tohidethebeltorstealthebacon
orkickthecan...
ButIdoandbecauseofthis
Tomboybecomesmynewname.
Mywalk,mymothersays,
remindsherofmyfather.
WhenImovelong-leggedandfastawayfromher
sheremembershim.
gameover
Whenmymothercalls,
HopeDellJackie—inside!
thegameisover.
Nomorereadingbeneaththestreetlight
forDell.Butformybrotherandme
it’snomoreanything!Nomore
stealthebacon
cocolevio1-2-3
MissLucyhadababy
spinningtops
doubleDutch.
Nomore
freezetag
hidethebelt
hotpeasandbutter.
Nomore
singingcontestsonthestoop.
Nomore
icecreamtruckchasing:
Wait!Wait,icecreamman!Mymother’sgonna
givememoney!
Nomoregettingwetinthejohnnypump
orstandingwithtwofistedhandsoutinfrontofme,
adimehiddeninone,chanting,
Dumbschool,dumbschool,whichhand’sitin?
Whenmymothercalls,
HopeDellJackie—inside!
wecomplainaswewalkuptheblockinthetwilight:
Everyoneelseisallowedtostayoutsidetilldark.
Ourfriendsstandinginthemoment—
stringhalfwaywrappedaroundatop,
waitingtobetaggedandunfrozen,
searchingforwordstoasong,
drippingfromthejohnnypump,
silentinthemiddleofMissLucyhada...
Thegameisoverfortheeveningandallwecanhear
isourfriends’
Aw...man!!
Bummer!
Forreal?!Thisearly?!
Dangit!
Shoot.Yourmama’smean!
Earlybirds!
Whyshegottamessupourplayinglikethat?
Jeez.Now
thegame’sover!
lessons
Mymothersays:
WhenMamatriedtoteachme
tomakecollardsandpotatosalad
Ididn’twanttolearn.
Sheopenstheboxofpancakemix,addsmilk
andegg,stirs.Iwatch
gratefulforthefoodwehavenow—syrupwaiting
inthecabinet,bananastosliceontop.
It’sSaturdaymorning.
Fivedaysaweek,sheleavesus
toworkatanofficebackinBrownsville.
Saturdaywehavehertoourselves,alldaylong.
MeandKaydidn’twanttobeinsidecooking.
Shestirsthelumpsfromthebatter,poursit
intothebuttered,hissingpan.
Wantedtobewithourfriends
runningwildthroughGreenville.
Therewasamanwithapeachtreedowntheroad.
OnedayRobertclimbedoverthatfence,filledabucket
withpeaches.Wouldn’tsharethemwithanyofusbut
tolduswherethepeachtreewas.Andthat’swherewe
wantedtobe
sneakingpeachesfromthatman’stree,throwing
therottenones
atyouruncle!
Mamawantedustolearntocook.
Asktheboys,wesaid.AndMamaknewthatwasn’tfair
girlsinsideandboysgoingofftostealpeaches!
Sosheletallofus
stayoutsideuntilsuppertime.
Andbythen,shesays,puttingourbreakfastonthetable,
itwastoolate.
tradingplaces
WhenMaria’smothermakes
arrozconhabichuelasytostones,
wetradedinners.Ifit’saschoolnight,
I’llruntoMaria’shouse,aplateofmymother ’s
bakedchickenwithKraftmacandcheese,
sometimesboxcornbread,
sometimescannedstringbeans,
warminmyhands,readyforthefirsttaste
ofMaria’smother ’sgarlickyriceandbeans,
crushedgreenbananas
friedandsaltedandwarm...
Mariawillbewaiting,herownplatecoveredinfoil.
Sometimes
wesitsidebysideonherstoop,ourtradedplates
inourlaps.
Whatareyouguyseating?theneighborhoodkidsask
butweneveranswer,toobusyshovelingthefoodwelove
intoourmouths.
Yourmothermakesthebestchicken,Mariasays.Thebest
cornbread.Thebesteverything!
Yeah,Isay.
Iguessmygrandmataughthersomethingafterall.
writing#1
It’seasiertomakeupstories
thanitistowritethemdown.WhenIspeak,
thewordscomepouringoutofme.Thestory
wakesupandwalksallovertheroom.Sitsinachair,
crossesonelegovertheother,says,
Letmeintroducemyself.Thenjuststartsgoingonandon.
ButasIbendovermycompositionnotebook,
onlymyname
comesquickly.Eachletter,neatlyprinted
betweenthepalebluelines.Thenwhite
spaceandairandmewondering,HowdoI
spellintroduce?Tryingagainandagain
untilthereisnothingbutpink
bitsoferaserandaholenow
whereastoryshouldbe.
lateautumn
Ms.Moskowitzcallsusonebyoneandsays,
Comeuptotheboardandwriteyourname.
Whenit’smyturn,Iwalkdowntheaislefrom
myseatintheback,writeJacquelineWoodson—
thewayI’vedoneahundredtimes,turnback
towardmyseat,proudasanything
ofmynameinwhitelettersonthedustyblackboard.
ButMs.Moskowitzstopsme,says,
Incursivetoo,please.ButtheqinJacquelineistoohard
soIwriteJackieWoodsonforthefirsttime.Struggle
onlyalittlebitwiththek.
Isthatwhatyouwantustocallyou?
Iwanttosay,No,mynameisJacqueline
butIamscaredofthatcursiveq,know
Imayneverbeabletoconnectittocandu
soInodeventhough
Iamlying.
theotherwoodson
EventhoughsomanypeoplethinkmysisterandI
aretwins,
IamtheotherWoodson,followingbehindhereachyear
intothesameclassroomshehadtheyearbefore.Each
teachersmileswhentheycallmyname.Woodson,they
say.YoumustbeOdella’ssister.Thentheynod
slowly,overandoveragain,callmeOdella.Say,
I’msorry!YoulooksomuchlikeherandsheisSObrilliant!
thenwaitformybrilliancetolightup
theclassroom.Waitformyarmtoflyinto
theairwitheveryanswer.Waitformypencil
tomovequicklythroughthetoo-easymathproblems
onthemimeographedsheet.Waitformetostand
beforeclass,easilyreadingwordsevenhighschool
studentsstumbleover.Andtheykeepwaiting.
Andwaiting
andwaiting
andwaiting
untiloneday,theywalkintotheclassroom,
almostcallmeOdel—thenstop
rememberthatIamtheotherWoodson
andbeginsearchingforbrilliance
atanotherdesk.
writing#2
Ontheradio,SlyandtheFamilyStonearesinging
“FamilyAffair,”thesongturnedupbecauseit’s
mymother ’sfavorite,theonesheplaysagainandagain.
Youcan’tleave’causeyourheartisthere,Slysings.
Butyoucan’tstay’causeyoubeensomewhereelse.
ThesongmakesmethinkofGreenvilleandBrooklyn
thetwoworldsmyheartlivesinnow.Iamwriting
thelyricsdown,tryingtocatcheachwordbeforeit’sgone
thenreadingthemback,outloudtomymother.This
ishowI’mlearning.Wordscomeslowtome
onthepageuntil
Imemorizethem,readingthesamebooksover
andover,copying
lyricstosongsfromrecordsandTVcommercials,
thewords
settlingintomybrain,intomymemory.
Noteveryonelearns
toreadthisway—memorytakingoverwhentherest
ofthebrainstopsworking,
butIdo.
Slyissingingthewords
overandoverasthough
heistrying
toconvincemethatthiswholeworld
isjustabunchoffamilies
likeours
goingabouttheirownfamilyaffairs.
Stopdaydreaming,mymothersays.
SoIgobacktowritingdownwords
thataresongsandstoriesandwholenewworlds
tuckingthemselvesinto
mymemory.
birchtreepoem
Beforemyteacherreadsthepoem,
shehastoexplain.
Abirch,shesays,isakindoftree
thenmagicallyshepullsapicture
fromherdeskdrawerandthetreeissuddenly
realtous.
“WhenIseebirchesbendtoleftandright...”shebegins
“Acrossthelinesofstraighterdarkertrees,
Iliketothink”—
andwhenshereads,hervoicedropsdownsolow
andbeautiful
someofusputourheadsonourdeskstokeep
thehappytearsfromflowing
—“someboy’sbeenswingingthem.
Butswingingdoesn’tbendthemdowntostay
Asice-stormsdo.”
Andeventhoughwe’veneverseenanicestorm
we’veseenabirchtree,sowecanimagine
everythingweneedtoimagine
foreverandever
infinity
amen.
howtolisten#6
WhenIsitbeneath
theshadeofmyblock’soaktree
theworlddisappears.
reading
Iamnotmysister.
Wordsfromthebookscurlaroundeachother
makelittlesense
until
Ireadthemagain
andagain,thestory
settlingintomemory.Tooslow
theteachersays.
Readfaster.
Toobabyish,theteachersays.
Readolder.
ButIdon’twanttoreadfasterorolderor
anywayelsethatmight
makethestorydisappeartooquicklyfromwhere
it’ssettling
insidemybrain,
slowlybecoming
apartofme.
AstoryIwillremember
longafterI’vereaditforthesecond,third,
tenth,hundredthtime.
stevieandme
EveryMonday,mymothertakesus
tothelibraryaroundthecorner.Weareallowed
totakeoutsevenbookseach.Onthosedays,
noonecomplains
thatallIwantarepicturebooks.
Thosedays,noonetellsmetoreadfaster
toreadharderbooks
toreadlikeDell.
Nooneistheretosay,Notthatbook,
whenIstopinfrontofthesmallpaperback
withabrownboyonthecover.
Stevie.
Iread:
Onedaymymommatoldme,
“Youknowyou’regonnahave
alittlefriendcomestaywithyou.”
AndIsaid,“Whoisit?”
Ifsomeonehadbeenfussingwithme
toreadlikemysister,Imighthavemissed
thepicturebookfilledwithbrownpeople,more
brownpeoplethanI’deverseen
inabookbefore.
Thelittleboy’snamewasStevenbut
hismotherkeptcallinghimStevie.
MynameisRobertbutmymommadon’t
callmeRobertie.
Ifsomeonehadtaken
thatbookoutofmyhand
said,You’retoooldforthis
maybe
I’dneverhavebelieved
thatsomeonewholookedlikeme
couldbeinthepagesofthebook
thatsomeonewholookedlikeme
hadastory.
whenitellmyfamily
WhenItellmyfamily
Iwanttobeawriter,theysmileandsay,
Weseeyouinthebackyardwithyourwriting.
Theysay,
Wehearyoumakingupallthosestories.
And,
Weusedtowritepoems.
And,
It’sagoodhobby,weseehowquietitkeepsyou.
Theysay,
Butmaybeyoushouldbeateacher,
alawyer,
dohair...
I’llthinkaboutit,Isay.
Andmaybeallofusknow
thisisjustanotheroneofmy
stories.
daddygunnar
SaturdaymorningandDaddyGunnar ’svoice
isontheotherendofthephone.
Weallgrabforit.
Letmespeaktohim!
Myturn!
Nomine!
UntilMamamakesusstandinline.
Hecoughshard,takesdeepbreaths.
Whenhespeaks,it’salmostlowasawhisper.
HowaremyNewYorkgrandbabies,hewantstoknow.
We’regood,Isay,holdingtighttothephone
butmysisterisalreadygrabbingforit,
HopeandevenRoman,allofus
hungryforthesound
ofhisfarawayvoice.
Y’allknowhowmuchIloveyou?
Infinityandbackagain,Isay
thewayI’vesaiditamilliontimes.
Andthen,Daddysaystome,Goonandadd
alittlebitmoretothat.
hopeonstage
Untilthecurtaincomesupandhe’sstandingthere,
tenyearsoldandaloneinthecenteroftheP.S.106stage,
nooneknew
mybigbrothercouldsing.Heisdressed
asashepherd,hisvoice
softandlow,moresurethananysoundI’veeverheard
comeoutofhim.Myquietbigbrother
whoonlyspeaks
whenasked,haslittletosaytoanyofus,except
whenhe’stalkingaboutscienceorcomicbooks,now
hasavoicethatiscirclingtheair,
landingclearandsweetaroundus:
“Tingalayo,comelittledonkeycome.
Tingalayo,comelittledonkeycome.
Mydonkeywalks,mydonkeytalks
mydonkeyeatswithaknifeandfork.
OhTingalayo,comelittledonkeycome.”
Hopecansing...mysistersaysinwonder
asmymother
andtherestoftheaudiencestarttoclap.
Maybe,Iamthinking,thereissomethinghidden
likethis,inallofus.Asmallgiftfromtheuniverse
waitingtobediscovered.
Mybigbrotherraiseshisarms,callinghisdonkeyhome.
Heissmilingashesings,themusicgettinglouder
behindhim.
“Tingalayo...”
Andinthedarkenedauditorium,thelight
isonlyonHope
andit’shardtobelievehehassuchamagic
singingvoice
andevenhardertobelievehisdonkey
isgoingtocomerunning.
daddythistime
Greenvilleisdifferentthissummer,
Romaniswellandoutback,swinginghard.Somewhere
betweenlastsummerandnow,ourdaddy
cementedtheswingsetdown.
Romandoesn’tknowtheshakydays—justthismoment,
hisdarkblueKedspointingtowardthesky,
hislaughterandscreams,likewind
throughthescreendoor.
Nowmygrandmothershusheshim,
Daddyrestinginthebedroom,thecoverspulledup
tohischin,
histhinbodysomuchsmallerthanIrememberit.
Justalittletired,Daddysaystome,whenItiptoe
inwithchickensoup,
sitontheedgeofthebedandtrytogethim
totakesmallsips.
Hestrugglesintositting,letsmefeedhim
smallmouthfulsbutonlyafew
areenough.Tootiredtoeatanymore.
Thenhecloseshiseyes.
Outside,Romanlaughsagainandtheswingset
whineswiththeweightofhim.
MaybeHopeisthere,pushinghim
intotheair.Ormaybeit’sDell.
Thethreeofthemwouldratherbeoutside.
Hisroomsmells,mysistersays.
ButIdon’tsmellanythingexceptthelotion
Irubintomygrandfather ’shands.
Whentheothersaren’taround,hewhispers,
You’remyfavorite,
smilesandwinksatme.You’regoingtobefine,
youknowthat.
Thenhecoughshardandcloseshiseyes,hisbreath
strugglingtoget
intoandoutofhisbody.
Mostdays,Iaminherewithmygrandfather,
holdinghishand
whilehesleeps
fluffingpillowsandtellinghimstories
aboutmyfriendsbackhome.
Whenheasks,IspeaktohiminSpanish,
thelanguagethatrollsoffmytongue
likeIwasbornknowingit.
Sometimes,mygrandfathersays,
Singmesomethingpretty.
AndwhenIsingtohim,I’mnot
justleftofthekeyorrightofthetune
HesaysIsingbeautifully.
HesaysIamperfect.
whateverybodyknowsnow
Eventhoughthelawshavechanged
mygrandmotherstilltakesus
tothebackofthebuswhenwegodowntown
intherain.It’seasier,mygrandmothersays,
thanhavingwhitefolkslookatmelikeI’mdirt.
Butwearen’tdirt.Wearepeople
payingthesamefareasotherpeople.
WhenIsaythistomygrandmother,
shenods,says,Easiertostaywhereyoubelong.
Ilookaroundandseetheones
whowalkstraighttotheback.See
theoneswhotakeaseatupfront,daring
anyonetomakethemmove.Andknow
thisiswhoIwanttobe.Notscared
likethat.Brave
likethat.
Still,mygrandmothertakesmyhanddowntown
pullsmerightpasttherestaurantsthathavetoletussit
whereverwewantnow.Noneedinmakingtrouble,
shesays.YouallgobacktoNewYorkCitybut
Ihavetolivehere.
WewalkstraightpastWoolworth’s
withoutevenlookinginthewindows
becausetheonetimemygrandmotherwentinside
theymadeherwaitandwait.Actedlike
Iwasn’teventhere.It’shardnottoseethemoment—
mygrandmotherinherSundayclothes,ahat
withaflowerpinnedtoit
neatlyonherhead,herpatent-leatherpurse,
perfectlyclasped
betweenherglovedhands—waitingquietly
longpastherturn.
endofsummer
Toofastthesummerleavesus,wekiss
ourgrandparentsgood-byeandmyuncleRobert
istherewaiting
totakeushomeagain.
Whenwehugourgrandfather,hisbody
isallbonesandskin.Butheisupnow,
sittingatthewindow,ablanketcovering
histhinshoulders.
Soon,I’llgetbacktothatgarden,hesays.
Butmostdays,allIwanttodo
islaydownandrest.
Wewaveagainfromthetaxithatpullsout
slowdownthedrive—watchourgrandmother,
stillwaving,
growsmallbehindusandourgrandfather,
inthewindow,
fadefromsight.
farrockaway
Robertonlystayslongenough
formymothertothankhim
forbuyingourtickets
forgettingushome.
Hedoesafancyturnonhisheel,aims
twopointerfingersatus
says,I’llcatchupwithallofyoulater.
Wetellhimthathehastocomebacksoon,
remindhimofallthestuffhe’spromisedus
tripstoConeyIslandandPalisadesAmusementPark,
aCrissydoll
withhairthatgrows,aTonkatoy,Gulliver’sTravels,
candy.
Hesayshewon’tforget,
asksusifhe’samanofhiswordand
everyoneexceptmymother
nods.
Hardnottomissmymother ’seyebrows,
givingherbabybrotheralook,
pressingherlipstogether.Once,
inthemiddleofthenight,twopolicemen
knockedonourdoor,askingforRobertLeonIrby.
Butmyunclewasn’there.
Sonowmymothertakesabreath,says,
Staysafe.
Says,
Don’tgetintotroubleoutthere,Robert.
Hegivesherahug,promiseshewon’t
andthenheisgone.
freshair
WhenIgetbacktoBrooklyn,Mariaisn’tthere.
She’sgoneupstate,stayingwithafamily,
hermothertellsme,thathasapool.Thenhermother
putsaplateoffoodinfrontofme,tellsme
howmuchsheknowsIloveherriceandchicken.
WhenMariareturnssheistannedandwearing
anewshortset.Everythingaboutherseemsdifferent.
Istayedwithwhitepeople,shetellsme.Richwhitepeople.
Theairupstateisdifferent.Itdoesn’tsmelllikeanything!
ShehandsmeapieceofbubblegumwithBUBBLEYUM
inbrightletters.
Thisiswhattheychewupthere.
ThetownwascalledSchenectady.
AlltherestofthesummerMariaandIbuyonly
BubbleYum,blow
hugebubbleswhileImakehertellmestoryafter
storyaboutthewhitefamilyinSchenectady.
TheykeptsayingIwaspoorandtryingtogivemestuff,
Mariasays.Ihadtokeeptellingthemit’snotpoor
wherewelive.
Nextsummer,Isay.Youshouldjustcomedownsouth.
It’sdifferentthere.
AndMariapromisesshewill.
Onthesidewalkwedrawhopscotchgamesthatwe
playusingchippedpiecesofslate,chalk
Maria&JackieBestFriendsForeverwherever
thereissmoothstone.
Writeitsomanytimesthatit’shardtowalk
onourside
ofthestreetwithoutlookingdown
andseeingusthere.
p.s.106haiku
JacquelineWoodson.
I’mfinallyinfourthgrade.
It’srainingoutside.
learningfromlangston
Ilovedmyfriend.
Hewentawayfromme.
There’snothingmoretosay.
Thepoemends,
Softasitbegan—
Ilovedmyfriend.
—LangstonHughes
Ilovemyfriend
andstilldo
whenweplaygames
welaugh.Ihopeshenevergoesawayfromme
becauseIlovemyfriend.
—JackieWoodson
theselfishgiant
InthestoryoftheSelfishGiant,alittleboyhugs
agiantwhohasneverbeenhuggedbefore.
Thegiantfalls
inlovewiththeboybutthenoneday,
theboydisappears.
Whenhereturns,hehasscarsonhishandsand
hisfeet,justlikeJesus.
ThegiantdiesandgoestoParadise.
Thefirsttimemyteacherreadsthestorytotheclass
Icryallafternoon,andamstillcrying
whenmymothergetshomefromworkthatevening.
Shedoesn’tunderstandwhy
Iwanttohearsuchasadstoryagainandagain
buttakesmetothelibraryaroundthecorner
whenIbeg
andhelpsmefindthebooktoborrow.
TheSelfishGiant,byOscarWilde.
Ireadthestoryagainandagain.
Likethegiant,I,too,fallinlovewiththeJesusboy,
there’ssomethingsosweetabouthim,Iwant
tobehisfriend.
Thenoneday,myteacherasksmetocomeupfront
toreadoutloud.ButIdon’tneedtobring
thebookwithme.
ThestoryoftheSelfishGiantisinmyheadnow,
livingthere.Remembered.
“Everyafternoon,astheywerecomingfromschool,
thechildrenusedtogoandplayintheGiant’sgarden...”
Itelltheclass,thewholestoryflowingoutofme
rightuptotheendwhentheboysays,
“ThesearethewoundsofLove...
“Youletmeplayonceinyourgarden,todayyoushall
comewithmetomygarden,whichisParadise...”
Howdidyoudothat,myclassmatesask.
Howdidyoumemorizeallthosewords?
ButIjustshrug,notknowingwhattosay.
HowcanIexplaintoanyonethatstories
arelikeairtome,
Ibreathetheminandletthemout
overandoveragain.
Brilliant!myteachersays,smiling.
Jackie,thatwasabsolutelybeautiful.
AndIknownow
wordsaremyTingalayo.Wordsaremybrilliance.
thebutterflypoems
NoonebelievesmewhenItellthem
Iamwritingabookaboutbutterflies,
eventhoughtheyseemewiththeChildcraftencyclopedia
heavyonmylapopenedtothepageswhere
themonarch,paintedlady,giantswallowtailand
queenbutterflieslive.Evenonecalledabuckeye.
WhenIwritethefirstwords
Wingsofabutterflywhisper...
noonebelievesawholebookcouldevercome
fromsomethingassimpleas
butterfliesthatdon’teven,mybrothersays,
livethatlong.
Butonpaper,thingscanliveforever.
Onpaper,abutterfly
neverdies.
sixminutes
TheSistersintheKingdomHallgetsixminutes
tobeonstage.Inpairs.Orthrees.
Butneveralone.
Wehavetowriteskits
wherewearevisitinganotherSister
ormaybeanonbeliever.Sometimes
theplaytakesplaceattheirpretendkitchentable
andsometimes,we’reintheirpretendlivingroom
butinreallifewe’rejustinfoldingchairs,sitting
ontheKingdomHallstage.Thefirsttime
IhavetogivemytalkIaskifIcanwriteitmyself
withoutanyonehelping.
Therearehorsesandcowsinmystoryeventhough
themainpointissupposedtobe
thestoryoftheresurrection.
Sayforinstance,Iwrite,
wehaveacowandahorsethatwelove.
Isdeaththeendoflifeforthoseanimals?
Whenmymotherreadsthoselines,
sheshakesherhead.You’regettingawayfromthetopic,
shesays.Youhavetotaketheanimalsoutofit,getright
tothepoint.Startwithpeople.
Idon’tknowwhatIamsupposedtodo
withthefabulous,moreinterestingpartofmystory,
wherethehorsesandcowsstartspeakingtome
andtoeachother.Howeventhoughtheyareold
andwon’tlivemuchlonger,theyaren’tafraid.
Youonlyhavesixminutes,mymothersays,
andno,youcan’tgetupandwalkacrossthestage
tomakeyourpoint.Yourtalkhastobegiven
sittingdown.
SoIstartagain.Rewriting:
Goodafternoon,Sister.I’mheretobringyousome
goodnewstoday.
DidyouknowGod’swordisabsolute?IfweturntoJohn,
chapterfive,versestwenty-eightandtwenty-nine...
promisingmyselfthere’llcomeatime
whenIcanusetherestofmystory
andstandwhenItellit
andgivemyselfandmyhorsesandmycows
awholelotmoretime
thansixminutes!
firstbook
Therearesevenofthem,
haikusmostlybutrhymingones,too.
Notenoughforarealbookuntil
Icuteachpageintoasmallsquare
staplethesquarestogether,write
onepoem
oneachpage.
ButterfliesbyJacquelineWoodson
onthefront.
Thebutterflybook
completenow.
john’sbargainstore
DownKnickerbockerAvenueiswhereeveryone
ontheblockgoestoshop.
There’sapizzeriaifyougethungry,
seventy-fivecentsaslice.
There’sanicecreamshopwhereconescostaquarter.
There’saFabcoShoesstoreandabeautyparlor.
AWoolworth’sfive-and-dimeandaJohn’sBargainStore.
Foralongtime,Idon’tputonefootinsideWoolworth’s.
Theywouldn’tletBlackpeopleeatattheirlunchcounters
inGreenville,ItellMaria.
Nowayaretheygettingmymoney!
Soinstead,MariaandIgotoJohn’sBargainStorewhere
threeT-shirtscostadollar.Webuythem
inpalepink,yellowandbabyblue.Eachnight
wemakeaplan:
Wearyouryellowonetomorrow,Mariasays,
andI’llwearmine.
Allyearlong,wedressalike,
walkingupanddownMadisonStreet
waitingforsomeonetosay,Areyouguyscousins?
sowecansmile,say,
Can’tyoutellfromlookingatus?!
newgirl
Thenonedayanewgirlmovesinnextdoor,tellsus
hernameisDianaandbecomes
meandMaria’sSecondBestFriendintheWholeWorld.
AndeventhoughMaria’smother
knewDiana’smotherinPuertoRico,
Mariapromisesthatdoesn’tmakeDianamásmejor
amiga—abetterfriend.Butsomedays,when
it’srainingandMamawon’tletmegooutside,
Iseethem
ontheblock,theirfingerslacedtogether,
headingaroundthecorner
tothebodegaforcandy.Thosedays,
theworldfeelsasgrayandcoldasitreallyis
andit’shard
nottobelievethenewgirlisn’tmásmejorthanme.
Hardnottobelieve
mydaysasMaria’sbestfriendforeverandeveramen
arecounted.
pasteles&pernil
WhenMaria’sbrother,Carlos,getsbaptized
heisjustatinybabyinawhitelacegownwith
somanytwenty-dollarbillsfoldedintofanspinned
alloverit
thathelookslikeagreen-and-whiteangel.
MariaandIstandoverhiscrib
talkingaboutallthecandywecouldbuywithjustone
ofthosefans.ButweknowthatGodiswatching
anddon’tevendaretouchthemoney.
Inthekitchen,thereispernilroastingintheoven
thedelicioussmellfillingthehouseandMariasays,
Youshouldjusteatalittlebit.ButIamnotallowed
toeatpork.Instead,Iwaitforpastelestoget
passedaround,
waitfortheoneshermotherhasfilledwithchicken
forJackie,miahijada,waitforthemomentwhen
Icanpeelthepaper
awayfromthecrushed-plantain-coveredmeat,
breakoffsmallpieceswithmyhandsandletthe
pastelemeltinmymouth.Mymothermakesthebest
pastelesinBrooklyn,Mariasays.AndeventhoughI’ve
onlyeatenhermom’s,Iagree.
Wheneverthereisthesmellofpernilandpasteleson
theblock,weknow
thereisacelebrationgoingon.Andtonight,theparty
isatMaria’shouse.Themusicisloudandthecake
isbigandthepasteles
thathermother ’sbeenmakingforthreedaysare
absolutelyperfect.
Wetakeourfoodouttoherstoopjustasthegrown-ups
startdancingmerengue,thewomenliftingtheirlongdresses
toshowofftheirfast-movingfeet,
themenclappingandyelling,
Baila!Baila!untilthelivingroomfloordisappears.
WhenIaskMariawhereDianaisshesays,
They’recominglater.Thispartisjustformyfamily.
Shepullsthecrispskin
awayfromthepernil,eatstheporkshoulder
withriceandbeans,
ourplatesbalancedonourlaps,tallglassesofMalta
besideus.
andforalongtime,neitheroneofussaysanything.
Yeah,Isay.Thisisonlyforus.Thefamily.
curses
Wearegoodkids,
peopletellmymotherthisallthetime,say,
Youhavethemostpolitechildren.
I’veneverheardabadwordfromthem.
Andit’strue—wesaypleaseandthankyou.
Wespeaksoftly.Welookadultsintheeyes
ask,Howareyou?Bowourheadswhenwepray.
Wedon’tknowhowtocurse,
whenwetrytoputbadwordstogethertheysoundstrange
likenewbabiestryingtotalkandmixinguptheirsounds.
Athome,wearen’tallowedwordslike
stupidordumborjerkordarn.
Wearen’tallowedtosay
IhateorIcoulddieorYoumakemesick.
We’renotallowedtorolloureyesor
lookawaywhenmymotherisspeakingtous.
Oncemybrothersaidbuttandwasn’tallowed
toplayoutsideafterschoolforaweek.
Whenwearewithourfriendsandangry,wewhisper,
Youstupiddummy
andourfriendslaughthenspewcurses
atuslikebullets,bendtheirlipsoverthewords
liketheywerebornspeakingthem.Theycoachuson,
tellustoJustsayit!
Butwecan’t.Evenwhenwetry
thewordsgetcaughtinsideourthroats,asthough
ourmother
isstandingtherewaiting,daringthemtoreachtheair.
afros
WhenRobertcomesoverwithhishairblownoutinto
anafro,Ibegmymother
forthesamehairstyle.
Everyoneintheneighborhood
hasoneandalloftheblackpeopleonSoulTrain.Even
MichaelJacksonandhisbrothersareallallowedtowear
theirhairthisway.
Eventhoughshesaysnotome,
mymomspendsalotofSaturdaymorning
inherbedroommirror,
pickingherownhair
intoahugeblackandbeautifuldome.
Which
issocompletelyonehundredpercentunfair
butshesays,Thisisthedifferencebetween
beingagrown-upandbeingachild.When
she’snotlooking,Istickmytongueout
ather.
Mysistercatchesme,says,
Andthat’sthedifference
betweenbeingachildandbeingagrown-up,
likeshe’stwentyyearsold.
Thenrollshereyesatmeandgoesbacktoreading.
graffiti
Yourtagisyournamewrittenwithspraypaint
howeveryouwantitwhereveryouwantittobe.
Itdoesn’tevenhavetobe
yourrealname—likeLocowholivesonWoodbineStreet.
HisrealnameisOrlandobuteveryone
callshimbyhistagso
it’severywhereinBushwick.Blackandredlettersand
crazyeyesinsidetheOs.
Somekidsclimbtothetopsofbuildings,hang
overtheedge
spraytheirnamesupsidedownfromthere.
ButmeandMariaonlyknowtheground,onlyknow
thefactoryonthecornerwithitsnewlypainted
brightpinkwall.Onlyknowthewaymyheartjumps
asIpressthebuttondown,hearthehissofpaint,watch
J-A-C-begin.
Onlyknowthesoundofmyuncle’svoice,
stoppingmebeforemynameis
apartofthehistory—liketheonesontheroofs
andfireescapesandsubwaycars.Iwish
Icouldexplain.
WishIhadthewords
tostophisanger,stoptheforceofhimgrabbingmyhand,
wishIknewhowtosay,
Justletmewrite—everywhere!
Butmyunclekeepsaskingoverandoveragain,
What’swrongwithyou?
Haveyoulostyourmind?
Don’tyouknowpeoplegetarrested
forthis?
They’rejustwords,Iwhisper.
They’renottryingtohurtanybody!
music
Eachmorningtheradiocomesonatseveno’clock.
SometimesMichaelJacksonissingingthatA-B-C
isaseasyas1-2-3
orSlyandtheFamilyStonearethankingusfor
lettingthem
bethemselves.
Sometimesit’sslowermusic,theFiveStairsteps
tellingus
thingsaregoingtogeteasier,ortheHolliessinging,
Heain’theavy,he’smybrother
Soonwego...
Mymotherletsuschoosewhatmusicwewant
tolistento
aslongasthewordfunkdoesn’tappearanywhere
inthesong.
ButthesummerIamten,funkisineverysinglesong
thatcomesonthecoolblackradiostations.Soour
mothermakesuslisten
tothewhiteones.
AllafternooncornypeoplesingaboutColorado,
abouteverythingbeingbeautiful
abouthowwe’veonlyjustbegun.
Mysisterfallsinlove
withthesingersbutIsneakoff
toMaria’shousewhere
safeinsideherroomwiththepinkshagcarpet
andbunkbeds,
wecancombourdolls’hairandsingalongwhen
theOhioPlayerssay,
He’sthefunkiest
Wormintheworld.
Wecandance
theFunkyChicken,tellimaginaryintruders
togetthefunkout
ofourfaces.Saythewordsohardandsoloud
andsomanytimes,
itbecomessomethingdifferenttous—something
sosilly
welaughjustthinkingaboutit.
Funky,funky,funky,
wesingagainandagainuntilthewordisjustasound
notconnectedtoanything
goodorbad
rightorwrong.
rikersisland
Whenthephonecallcomesinthemiddleofthenight,
itisn’t
totellussomeonehasdied.It’sRobert
callingfromaprisoncalledRikersIsland.
Evenfrommyhalf-asleepplace,
Icanhearmymothertakingaheavybreath,whispering,
Iknewthiswascoming,Robert.Iknewyouweren’t
doingright.
Inthemorning,weeatourcerealinsilenceas
ourmothertellsus
thatourunclewon’tbearoundforawhile.
Whenweaskwherehe’sgone,shesays,Jail.
Whenweaskwhy,shesays,
Itdoesn’tmatter.Welovehim.
That’sallweneedtoknowandkeepremembering.
Robertwalkedthewideroad,shesays.Andnow
he’spayingforit.
Witnessesbelievethere’sawideroadandanarrowroad.
TobegoodintheeyesofGodistowalkthenarrowone,
liveagoodcleanlife,pray,dowhat’sright.
Onthewideroad,thereiseverykindofbadthinganyone
canimagine.Iimaginemyuncledoinghissmooth
dancestepsdownthewideroad,
smilingasthemusicplaysloud.Iimagine
himlaughing,pressingquartersintoourpalms,
pullingpresentsforusfromhisbag,thickgold
braceletflashingathiswrist.
Where’dyougetthis?mymotherasked,herfacetight.
Itdoesn’tmatter,myuncleanswered.Y’allknowIloveyou.
Youdoingtherightthing,Robert?mymotherwanted
toknow.Yes,myunclesaid.Ipromiseyou.
Itrainsallday.Wesitaroundthehouse
waitingforthesuntocomeoutsowecangooutside.
Dellreadsinthecornerofourroom.Ipullout
mybeat-upcompositionnotebook
trytowriteanotherbutterflypoem.
Nothingcomes.
Thepagelooksliketheday—wrinkledandempty
nolongerpromisinganyone
anything.
movingupstate
FromRikersIsland,myuncleissent
toaprisonupstatewecanvisit.
Wedon’tknowwhathe’lllooklike,how
muchhe’llhavechanged.Andbecauseourmother
warnsusnotto,Idon’ttellanyonehe’sinjail.
Whenmyfriendsask,Isay,Hemovedupstate.
We’regoingtovisithimsoon.
Helivesinabighouse,Isay.Withabigyardandeverything.
Butthemissingsettlesinsideofme.Everytime
JamesBrowncomesontheradio,IseeRobertdancing.
EverytimethecommercialfortheCrissydollcomeson
IthinkhowIalmostgotone.
He’smyfavoriteuncle,Isayoneafternoon.
He’sourONLYuncle,mysistersays.
Thengoesbacktoreading.
onthebustodannemora
Weboardthebuswhenthesunisjustkissingthesky.
Darknesslikeacapethatwewearforhours,curledintoit
andbacktosleep.Fromsomewhereaboveus
theO’Jaysaresinging,tellingpeopleallovertheworld
tojoinhandsandstartalovetrain.
Thesongrocksmegentlyintoandoutofdreaming
andinthedream,atrainfilledwithlovegoesonandon.
Andinthestorythatbeginsfromthesong,thebus
isnolongerabusandwe’renolongergoingto
Dannemora.Butthereisfoodandlaughterand
themusic.Thegirltellingthestoryismebut
notmeatthesametime—watchingallofthis,
writingitdownasfastasshecan,
singingalongwiththeO’Jays,askingeveryone
toletthistrainkeeponriding...
“ridingonthrough...”
andit’sthestoryofawholetrainfilled
withloveandhowthepeopleonit
aren’tinprisonbutarefreetodance
andsingandhugtheirfamilieswhenevertheywant.
Onthebus,someofthepeoplearesleeping,others
arestaringoutthewindowortalkingsoftly.
Eventhechildrenarequiet.Maybeeachofthem
isthinking
theirowndream—ofdaddiesanduncles,brothers
andcousins
onedaybeingfreetocomeonboard.
Pleasedon’tmissthistrainatthestation
‘Causeifyoumissit,Ifeelsorry,sorryforyou.
toogood
Thebusmovesslowoutofthecityuntilwecansee
themountains,andabovethat,somuchbluesky.
Passingthemountains.
Passingthesea
Passingtheheavens.
That’ssoonwhereIwillbe...
Asongcomestomequickly,thewordsmovingthrough
mybrainandoutofmymouthinawhisperbutstill
mysisterhears,askswhotaughtittome.
Ijustmadeitup,Isay.
Noyoudidn’t,shesaysback.It’stoogood.Someone
taughtthattoyou.
Idon’tsayanythingback.Justlookoutthewindow
andsmile.
Toogood,Iamthinking.ThestuffImakeupistoogood.
dannemora
Atthegateoftheprison,guardsglareatus,thenslowly
allowusin.
Mybigbrotherisafraid.
Helooksupatthebarbedwire
putshishandsinhispockets.
Iknowhewisheshewashomewithhischemistryset.
Iknowhewantstobeanywherebuthere.
Nothingbutstoneandabigbuildingthatgoessofarup
andsofarbackandforththatwecan’tsee
wherethebeginningis
orwhereitmightend.Graybrick,smallwindows
coveredwithwire.Whocouldsee
outfromhere?Theguardscheckourpockets,
checkourbags,makeus
walkthroughX-raymachines.
Mybigbrotherholdsouthisarms.Letstheguardspathim
fromshouldertoankle,checking
foranythinghemightbehiding...
HeisHopeAustinWoodsontheSecond,partofalongline
ofWoodsons—doctorsandlawyersandteachers—
butasquicklyasTHAT!hecanbecome
anumber.LikeRobertLeonIrbyisnow
somanynumbersacrossthepocket
ofhisprisonuniformthatit’shard
nottokeeplookingatthem,
waitingforthemtomorphintoletters
thatspellout
myuncle’sname.
notrobert
Whentheguardbringsouruncletothewaitingroom
thatisfilledwithotherfamilies
waiting,heisnot
Robert.Hisafroisgonenow,
shavedtoablackshadowonhisperfectskull.
HiseyebrowsarethickerthanIremember,dippingdown
inanewer,sadderway.Evenwhenhesmiles,
openshisarms
tohugallofusatonce,thebitIcatchofit,before
jumpingintohishug,isahalfsmile,caught
andtrappedinsideanewer,sadder
uncle.
mountainsong
OnthewayhomefromvisitingRobert,
Iwatchthemountainsmovepastme
andslowlythemountainsongstartscomingagain
morewordsthistime,comingfaster
thanIcansingthem.
Passingthemountains
Passingthesea
Passingtheheavens
waitingforme.
Lookatthemountains
Suchabeautifulsea
Andthere’sapromisethatheaven
isfilledwithglory.
Isingthesongoverandoveragain,
quietlyintothewindowpane,myforehead
pressedagainstthecoolglass.Tearscomingfastnow.
ThesongmakesmethinkofRobertandDaddy
andGreenville
andeverythingthatfeelsfarbehindmenow,everything
thatisgoing
oralreadygone.
IamthinkingifIcanholdontothememoryofthissong
gethomeandwriteitdown,thenitwillhappen,
I’llbeawriter.I’llbeabletoholdonto
eachmoment,eachmemory
everything.
poemonpaper
Whenanyoneinthefamilyasks
whatI’mwriting,Iusuallysay,
Nothing
or
Astory
or
Apoem
andonlymymothersays,
Justsolongasyou’renotwritingaboutourfamily.
AndI’mnot.
Well,notreally...
Upinthemountains
farfromthesea
there’saplacecalledDannemora
themenarenotfree...
daddy
Itisearlyspring
whenmygrandmothersendsforus.
Warmenoughtobelieveagain
thatfoodwillcomefromthenewlythawedearth.
Thisistheweather,mymothersays,Daddyloved
togardenin.Wearrive
notlongbeforemygrandfatherisabouttotake
hislastbreaths,
breathlessourselvesfromourfirstride
inanairplane.
Iwanttotellhimallaboutit
howlouditwaswhentheplaneliftedintothesky,
eachofus,leaningtowardthewindow,
watchingNewYork
growsmallandspeckledbeneathus.
Howthemealsarrived
ontinytrays—somekindoffishthatnoneofusate.
Iwanttotellhimhowthestewardessgaveuswings
topintoourblousesandshirtsandtoldMama
wewerebeautifulandwellbehaved.But
mygrandfatherissleepingwhenwecometohisbedside,
openshiseyesonlytosmile,turnssothatmygrandmother
canpressicecubesagainsthislips.Shetellsus,
Heneedshisrestnow.Thatevening
hedies.
Onthedayheisburied,mysisterandIwearwhitedresses,
theboysinwhiteshirtsandties.
WewalkslowlythroughNicholtown,alongparade
ofpeople
wholovedhim—Hope,Dell,Romanandme
leadingit.Thisishowweburyourdead—asilentparade
throughthestreets,showingtheworldoursadness,others
whoknewmygrandfatherjoininginonthewalk,
childrenwaving,
grown-upsdabbingattheireyes.
Ashestoashes,wesayatthegravesite
witheachhandfulofdirtwedropgentlyontohis
loweringcasket.
Wewillseeyouinthebyandby,wesay.
Wewillseeyouinthebyandby.
howtolisten#7
Eventhesilence
hasastorytotellyou.
Justlisten.Listen.
aftergreenville#2
AfterDaddydies
mygrandmothersellsthehouseinNicholtown
givesthebrownchairtoMissBell,
Daddy’sclothestotheBrothersattheKingdomHall,
thekitchentableandbrightyellowchairs
tohersisterLucindainFieldcrestVillage.
AfterDaddydies
mygrandmotherbringsthebedourmotherwasbornin
toBrooklyn.Unpacksherdresses
inthesmallemptybedroom
downstairs,
putsherBible,WatchtowersandAwakes,
apictureofDaddy
onthelittlebrownbookshelf.
AfterDaddydies
springblursintosummer
thenwintercomesontoocoldandfast,
andmygrandmothermovesachairtothelivingroom
window
watchesthetreedropthelastofitsleaves
whileboysplayskellyandspinningtopsinthemiddle
ofourquietBrooklynstreet.
AfterDaddydies
IlearntojumpdoubleDutchslowly
trippingagainandagainovermytoo-bigfeet.Counting,
Ten,twenty,thirty,fortydeepintothewinteruntil
oneafternoon
gravityreleasesmeandmyfeetflyfreeintheropes,
fifty,sixty,seventy,eighty,ninety...
asmygrandmotherwatchesme.
Bothofourworlds
changedforever.
mimosatree
Amimosatree,greenandthinlimbed,pushesupthrough
thesnow.Mygrandmotherbroughttheseedswithher
frombackhome.
Sometimes,shepullsachairtothewindow,looks
downovertheyard.
Thepromiseofglitteringsidewalksfeelsalongtime
behindusnow,nodiamondsanywheretobefound.
Butsomedays,justaftersnowfalls,
thesuncomesout,shinesdownonthepromise
ofthattreefrombackhomejoiningushere.
Shinesdownoverthebrightwhiteground.
Andonthosedays,somuchlightandwarmthfills
theroomthatit’shardnottobelieve
inalittlebit
ofeverything.
bubble-gumcigarettes
Youcanbuyaboxofbubble-gumcigarettesforadime
atthebodegaaroundthecorner.
Sometimes,MariaandIwalkthere,
ourfingerslacedtogether,anickel
ineachofourpockets.
Thebubblegumispinkwithwhitepaper
wrappedaroundit.Whenyouputitinyourmouth
andblow,awhitepuffcomesout.
Youcanreallybelieve
you’resmoking.
Wetalkwiththebubble-gumcigarettes
betweenourfingers.Holdthemintheair
likethemoviestarsonTV.Weletthemdangle
fromourmouthsandlookateachother
throughslittedeyes
thenlaughathowgrown-upwecanbe
howbeautiful.
Whenmysisterseesus
pretendingtosmoke,sheshakesherhead.
That’swhyDaddydied,shesays.
Afterthat
meandMariapeelthepaperoff,
turnourcigarettesintoregularbubblegum.
Afterthat
thegameisover.
what’sleftbehind
You’vegotyourdaddy’seasyway,
mygrandmothersaystome,holding
thepictureofmygrandfather
inherhands.Iwatchyouwith
yourfriendsandseehimalloveragain.
Wherewilltheweddingsupperbe?
Waydownyonderinahollowtree...
Welookatthepicturewithouttalking.
Sometimes,Idon’tknowthewordsforthings,
howtowritedownthefeelingofknowing
thateverydyingpersonleavessomethingbehind.
Igotmygrandfather ’seasyway.Maybe
IknowthiswhenI’mlaughing.Maybe
IknowitwhenIthinkofDaddy
andhefeelscloseenough
formetolaymyheadagainsthisshoulder.
Irememberhowhelaughed,Itellmygrandmother
andshesmilesandsays,
Becauseyoulaughjustlikehim.
Twopeasinapod,youwere.
Twopeasinapodwewere.
thestoriesitell
Everyautumn,theteacherasksusto
writeaboutsummervacation
andreadittotheclass.
InBrooklyn,everybodygoessouth
ortoPuertoRico
ortotheircousin’shouseinQueens.
ButaftermygrandmothermovestoNewYork,
weonlygodownsouthonce,
formyauntLucinda’sfuneral.Afterthat,
mygrandmothersaysshe’sdonewiththeSouth
saysitmakeshertoosad.
Butnow
whensummercomes
ourfamilygetsonaplane,flies
to
Africa
Hawaii
Chicago.
ForsummervacationwewenttoLongIsland,
tothebeach.Everybodywentfishingandeverybody
caughtalotoffish.
Eventhoughnooneinmyfamilyhaseverbeen
toLongIsland
orfished
orlikestheocean—toodeep,tooscary.Still,
eachautumn,Iwriteastory.
Inmywriting,thereisastepfathernow
wholivesinCaliforniabutmeetsuswhereverwego.
Thereisachurch,notaKingdomHall.
Thereisabluecar,anewdress,looseunribbonedhair.
Inmystories,ourfamilyisregularasair
twoboys,twogirls,sometimesadog.
Didthatreallyhappen?thekidsinclassask.
Yeah,Isay.Ifitdidn’t,howwouldIknowwhattowrite?
howtolisten#8
Doyouremember...?
someone’salwaysaskingand
someoneelse,alwaysdoes.
fate&faith&reasons
Everythinghappensforareason,mymother
says.ThentellsmehowKaybelieved
infateanddestiny—everything
thateverhappenedorwasgoingtohappen
couldn’teverbeavoided.Themarchers
downsouthdidn’tjustupandstart
theirmarching—itwaspartofalonger,bigger
plan,thatmaybebelongedtoGod.
Mymothertellsmethisaswefoldlaundry,whitetowels
separatedfromthecoloredones.Each
athreattotheotherandIrememberthetime
Ispilledbleachonabluetowel,dottingitforever.
Thepalepinktowel,amemory
ofwhenitwaswashedwitharedone.Maybe
thereissomething,afterall,totheway
somepeoplewanttoremain—eachtoitsownkind.
Butintime
maybe
everythingwillfadetogray.
EvenallofuscomingtoBrooklyn,
mymothersays,wasn’tsomeaccident.AndIcan’thelp
thinkingofthebirdshere—howtheydisappear
inthewintertime,
headingsouthforfoodandwarmthandshelter.
Headingsouth
tostayalive...passingusontheway...
Noaccidents,mymothersays.Justfateandfaith
andreasons.
WhenIaskmymotherwhatshebelievesin,
shestops,midfold,andlooksoutthebackwindow.
Autumn
isfullonhereandtheskyisbrightblue.
IguessIbelieveinrightnow,shesays.Andtheresurrection.
AndBrooklyn.Andthefourofyou.
whatif...?
Maria’smotherneverleftBayamón,PuertoRico,
andmymotherneverleftGreenville.
Whatifnoonehadeverwalkedthegrassyfields
thatarenowMadisonStreetandsaid,
Let’sputsomehouseshere.
WhatifthepeopleinMaria’sbuildingdidn’tsell
1279MadisonStreet
toMaria’sparents
andourlandlordtoldmymomthathecouldn’trent
1283
tosomeonewhoalreadyhadfourchildren.
Whatiftheparkwiththeswingswasn’trightacross
KnickerbockerAvenue?
WhatifMariahadn’twalkedoutofherbuilding
onedayandsaid,
MynameisMariabutmymomcallsmeGoogoo.
WhatifIhadlaughedinsteadofsaying,
You’relucky.IwishIhadanickname,too.
Youwanttogototheparksometime?
Whatifshedidn’thaveasisterandtwobrothers
andIdidn’thaveasisterandtwobrothers
andherdaddidn’tteachustobox
andhermotherdidn’tcooksuchgoodfood?
Ican’tevenimagineanyofit,Mariasays.
Nope,Isay.NeithercanI.
bushwickhistorylesson
BeforeGermanmotherswrappedscarvesaround
theirheads,
kissedtheirownmothersgood-byeandheadedacross
theworld
toBushwick—
BeforetheItalianfatherssailedacrosstheocean
forthedreamofAmerica
andfoundthemselvesinBushwick—
BeforeDominicandaughtersdonnedquinceañera
dressesandwalkedproudlydownBushwickAvenue—
Beforeyoungbrownboysincutoffshortsspuntheir
firsttopsandplayedtheirfirstgamesofskellyon
BushwickStreets—
Beforeanyofthat,thisplacewascalledBoswijck,
settledbytheDutch
andFranciscustheNegro,aformerslave
whoboughthisfreedom.
AndallofNewYorkwascalledNewAmsterdam,
runbyaman
namedPeterStuyvesant.Therewereslaveshere.
Thosewhocouldaffordtoown
theirfreedom
livedontheothersideofthewall.
AndnowthatplaceiscalledWallStreet.
Whenmyteachersays,Sowritedownwhatallofthismeans
toyou,ourheadsbendoverournotebooks,thewholeclass
silent.Thewholeclassbelongingsomewhere:
Bushwick.
Ididn’tjustappearoneday.
Ididn’tjustwakeupandknowhowtowritemyname.
Ikeepwriting,knowingnow
thatIwasalongtimecoming.
howtolisten#9
Underthebackporch
there’sanaloneplaceIgo
writingallI’veheard.
thepromiseland
Whenmyunclegetsoutofjail
heisn’tjustmyuncleanymore,heis
RoberttheMuslimandwears
asmallblackkufionhishead.
Andeventhoughweknow
weWitnessesarethechosenones,welisten
tothestorieshetellsabout
amannamedMuhammad
andaholyplacecalledMecca
andthestrengthofallBlackpeople.
Wesitinacirclearoundhim,hishands
movingslowthroughtheair,hisvoice
calmerandquieterthanitwasbefore
hewentaway.
Whenhepullsoutasmallrugtoprayon
Ikneelbesidehim,wantingtosee
hisMecca
wantingtoknowtheplace
hecallsthePromiseLand.
Lookwithyourheartandyourhead,hetellsme
hisownheadbowed.
It’soutthereinfrontofyou.
You’llknowwhenyougetthere.
powertothepeople
OntheTVscreenawoman
namedAngelaDavisistellingus
there’sarevolutiongoingonandthatit’stime
forBlackpeopletodefendthemselves.
SoMariaandIwalkthroughthestreets,
ourfistsraisedintheairAngelaDavisstyle.
WereadaboutherintheDailyNews,run
tothetelevisioneachtimeshe’sinterviewed.
Sheisbeautifulandpowerfulandhas
mysamegap-toothedsmile.Wedream
ofrunningawaytoCalifornia
tojointheBlackPanthers
theorganizationAngelaisapartof.
Sheisnotafraid,shesays,
todieforwhatshebelievesin
butdoesn’tplantodie
withoutafight.
TheFBIsaysAngelaDavisisoneofAmerica’s
MostWanted.
Already,therearesomanythingsIdon’tunderstand,why
someonewouldhavetodie
orevenfightforwhattheybelievein.
Whythecopswouldwantsomeonewhoistrying
tochangetheworld
injail.
Wearenotafraidtodie,MariaandIshout,fistshigh,
forwhatwebelievein.
Butbothofusknow—we’dratherkeepbelieving
andlive.
sayitloud
MymothertellsustheBlackPanthersaredoing
allkindsofstuff
tomaketheworldabetterplaceforBlackchildren.
InOakland,theystartedafreebreakfastprogram
sothatpoorkidscanhaveameal
beforestartingtheirschoolday.Pancakes,
toast,eggs,fruit:wewatchthekidseathappily,
singsongsabouthowproudtheyare
tobeBlack.Wesingthesongalongwiththem
standonthebasesoflamppostsandscream,
Sayitloud:I’mBlackandI’mprouduntil
mymotherhollersfromthewindow,
Getdownbeforeyoubreakyourneck.
Idon’tunderstandtherevolution.
InBushwick,there’sastreetwecan’tcrosscalled
WyckoffAvenue.Whitepeopleliveontheotherside.
Onceaboyfrommyblockgotbeatupforwalking
overthere.
Oncetherewerefourwhitefamiliesonourblock
buttheyallmovedawayexceptfortheoldlady
wholivesbythetree.Somedays,shebringsoutcookies
tellsusstoriesoftheoldneighborhoodwheneveryone
wasGermanorIrishandevensomeItalians
downbyWilsonAvenue.
Allkindsofpeople,shesays.Andthecookies
aretoogoodformetosay,
Exceptus.
Everyoneknowswheretheybelonghere.
It’snotGreenville
butit’snotdiamondsidewalkseither.
Istilldon’tknowwhatitis
thatwouldmakepeoplewanttogetalong.
Maybenoonedoes.
AngelaDavissmiles,gap-toothedandbeautiful,
raisesherfistintheair
says,Powertothepeople,looksoutfromthetelevision
directlyintomyeyes.
maybemecca
Thereisateenageronourblockwithonearmmissing,
wecallhimLeftieandhetellsus
helosthisarminVietnam.
That’sawar,hesays.Y’allluckytobetooyoungtogo.
Itdoesn’thurtanymore,hetellsuswhenwegather
aroundhim.
Buthiseyesaresadeyesandsomedayshewalks
aroundtheblock
maybeahundredtimeswithoutsayinganything
toanyone.
Whenwecall,HeyLeftie!hedoesn’tevenlookourway.
Someevenings,IkneeltowardMeccawithmyuncle.
MaybeMecca
istheplaceLeftiegoestoinhismind,when
thememoryoflosing
hisarmbecomestoomuch.MaybeMeccais
goodmemories,
presentsandstoriesandpoetryandarrozconpollo
andfamilyandfriends...
MaybeMeccaistheplaceeveryoneislookingfor...
It’soutthereinfrontofyou,myunclesays.
IknowI’llknowit
whenIgetthere.
therevolution
Don’twaitforyourschooltoteachyou,myunclesays,
abouttherevolution.It’shappeninginthestreets.
He’sbeenoutofjailformorethanayearnowandhishair
isanafroagain,gentlymovinginthewindaswehead
tothepark,himholdingtight
tomyhandevenwhenwe’renotcrossing
KnickerbockerAvenue,evennowwhenI’mtooold
forhandholdingandthelike.
TherevolutioniswhenShirleyChisholmranforpresident
andtherestoftheworldtriedtoimagine
aBlackwomanintheWhiteHouse.
WhenIheartheword
revolution
Ithinkofthecarouselwith
allthosebeautifulhorses
goingaroundasthoughthey’llneverstopandme
choosingthepurpleoneeachtime,climbingupontoit
andreachingforthegoldenring,assoftmusicplays.
Therevolutionisalwaysgoingtobehappening.
Iwanttowritethisdown,thattherevolutionislike
amerry-go-round,historyalwaysbeingmade
somewhere.Andmaybeforashorttime,
we’reapartofthathistory.Andthentheridestops
andourturnisover.
WewalkslowtowardtheparkwhereIcanalreadysee
thebigswings,emptyandwaitingforme.
AndafterIwriteitdown,maybeI’llenditthisway:
MynameisJacquelineWoodson
andIamreadyfortheride.
howtolisten#10
WritedownwhatIthink
Iknow.Theknowingwillcome.
Justkeeplistening...
awriter
You’reawriter,Ms.Vivosays,
hergrayeyesbrightbehind
thinwireframes.Hersmilebiggerthananything
soIsmileback,happytohearthesewords
fromateacher ’smouth.Sheisafeminist,shetellsus
andthirtyfifth-gradehandsbendintodesks
whereourdictionarieswaittoopenyetanother
worldtous.Ms.Vivopauses,watchesourfingersfly
Webster’shasouranswers.
Equalrights,aboynamedAndrewyellsout.
Forwomen.
Myhandsfreezeonthethinwhitepages.
LikeBlacks,Ms.Vivo,too,ispartofarevolution.
Butrightnow,thatrevolutionissofarawayfromme.
Thismoment,thishere,thisrightnowismyteacher
saying,
You’reawriter,assheholdsthepoemIamjustbeginning.
Thefirstfourlines,stolen
frommysister:
Blackbrothers,Blacksisters,allofthemweregreat
nofearnofrightbutawillingnesstofight...
Youcanhavethem,Dellsaidwhenshesaw.
Idon’twanttobeapoet.
Andthenmyownpencilmovinglateintotheevening:
Inbigfinehouseslivedthewhites
inlittleoldshackslivedtheblacks
buttheblacksweresmart
infeartheytooknopart.
OneofthemwasMartin
withaheartofgold.
You’reawriter,Ms.Vivosays,holdingmypoemouttome.
Andstandinginfrontoftheclass
takingmypoemfromher
myvoiceshakesasIrecitethefirstline:
Blackbrothers,Blacksisters,allofthemweregreat....
Butmyvoicegrowsstrongerwitheachwordbecause
morethananythingelseintheworld,
Iwanttobelieveher.
everywish,onedream
Everydandelionblown
eachStarlight,starbright,
ThefirststarIseetonight.
Mywishisalwaysthesame.
Everyfalleneyelash
andfirstfireflyofsummer...
Thedreamremains.
Whatdidyouwishfor?
Tobeawriter.
Everyheads-uppennyfound
anddaydreamandnightdream
andevenwhenpeoplesayit’sapipedream...!
Iwanttobeawriter.
Everysunriseandsunsetandsong
againstacoldwindowpane.
Passingthemountains.
Passingthesea.
Everystoryread
everypoemremembered:
Ilovedmyfriend
and
WhenIseebirchesbendtoleftandright
and
“Nay,”answeredthechild:“butthesearethewoundsofLove.”
Everymemory...
Froggiewenta-courting,andhedidride
Uhhmm.
bringsmecloser
andclosertothedream.
theearthfromfaraway
EverySaturdaymorning,werundownstairs
tothetelevision.Justasthethemesong
fromTheBigBlueMarblebegins,thefourofussingalong:
Theearth’sabigbluemarblewhenyouseeitfromoutthere.
Thenthecameraiszoominginonthatmarble,
thebluebecoming
water,thenland,thenchildreninAfricaandTexas
andChina
andSpainandsometimes,NewYorkCity!Theworld
closeenoughtotouchnowandchildrenfromallover
rightinourlivingroom!Tellingustheirstories.
Thesunandmoondeclare,ourbeauty’sveryrare...
Theworld—myworld!—likewords.Once
therewasonlytheletterJandmysister ’shand
wrappedaroundmine,guidingme,promisingme
infinity.Thisbigbluemarble
ofworldandwordsandpeopleandplaces
insidemyheadand
somewhereoutthere,too.
Allofit,minenowifIjustlisten
andwriteitdown.
whatibelieve
IbelieveinGodandevolution.
IbelieveintheBibleandtheQur ’an.
IbelieveinChristmasandtheNewWorld.
Ibelievethatthereisgoodineachofus
nomatterwhoweareorwhatwebelievein.
Ibelieveinthewordsofmygrandfather.
IbelieveinthecityandtheSouth
thepastandthepresent.
IbelieveinBlackpeopleandWhitepeoplecoming
together.
Ibelieveinnonviolenceand“PowertothePeople.”
Ibelieveinmylittlebrother ’spaleskinandmyown
darkbrown.
Ibelieveinmysister ’sbrillianceandthetoo-easy
booksIlovetoread.
IbelieveinmymotheronabusandBlackpeople
refusingtoride.
Ibelieveingoodfriendsandgoodfood.
Ibelieveinjohnnypumpsandjumpropes,
MalcolmandMartin,BuckeyesandBirmingham,
writingandlistening,badwordsandgoodwords—
IbelieveinBrooklyn!
Ibelieveinonedayandsomedayandthis
perfectmomentcalledNow.
eachworld
Whentherearemanyworlds
youcanchoosetheone
youwalkintoeachday.
Youcanimagineyourselfbrilliantasyoursister,
slowermoving,quietandthoughtfulasyourolderbrother
orfilledupwiththehiccuppingjoyandlaughter
ofthebabyinthefamily.
Youcanimagineyourselfamothernow,climbing
ontoabusatnightfall,turning
towavegood-byetoyourchildren,watching
theworldofSouthCarolinadisappearbehindyou.
Whentherearemanyworlds,lovecanwrapitself
aroundyou,say,Don’tcry.Say,Youareasgoodasanyone.
Say,Keeprememberingme.Andyouknow,evenasthe
worldexplodes
aroundyou—thatyouareloved...
Eachdayanewworld
opensitselfuptoyou.Andalltheworldsyouare—
OhioandGreenville
WoodsonandIrby
Gunnar ’schildandJack’sdaughter
Jehovah’sWitnessandnonbeliever
listenerandwriter
JackieandJacqueline—
gatherintooneworld
calledYou
whereYoudecide
whateachworld
andeachstory
andeachending
willfinallybe.
author’snote
Memoryisstrange.WhenIfirstbegantowriteBrownGirlDreaming,mychildhoodmemoriesof
Greenvillecamefloodingbacktome—smallmomentsandbiggerones,too.ThingsIhadn’tthought
aboutinyearsandotherstuffI’veneverforgotten.WhenIbegantowriteitalldown,Irealizedhow
muchImissedtheSouth.Soforthefirsttimeinmanyyears,Ireturned“home,”andsawcousinsI
hadn’tseensinceIwassmall,heardstoriesIhadheardmanytimesfrommygrandmother,walked
roadsthatwereverydifferentnowbutstillthesameroadsofmychildhood.Itwasabittersweet
journey.IwishIcouldhavewalkedthoseroadsagainwithmymom,mygrandfather,myuncle
Robert,myauntKay,andmygrandmother.Butallhavemadetheirownjourneytothenextplace.SoI
walkedtheroadsalonethistime.Still,itfeltasthougheachofthemwaswithme—they’realldeeply
etchednow,intomemory.
Andthat’swhatthisbookis—mypast,mypeople,mymemories,mystory.
IknewIcouldn’twriteabouttheSouthwithoutwritingaboutOhio.AndeventhoughIwasonlya
babywhenwelivedthere,IhavethegiftofmyamazingauntAdaAdams,whoisagenealogistand
ourfamilyhistorian.Shewasmygo-topersonandfilledinsomanygapsinmymemory.AuntAda
tookmerightbacktoColumbus.Duringthewritingofthisbook,IreturnedtoOhiowithmyfamily.
AuntAdatookusonajourneyoftheUndergroundRailroad,showedusthegravesofgrandparents
andgreat-grandparents,toldmesomuchhistoryIhadmissedoutonasachild.AuntAdanotonly
showedmethepastbutshealsohelpedmeunderstandthepresent.Sooften,Iamaskedwheremy
storiescomefrom.Iknownowmystoriesarepartofacontinuum—myauntisastoryteller.Sowere
mymomandmygrandmother.AndthehistoryAuntAdashowedme—therichhistorythatismy
history—mademeatonceproudandthoughtful.Thepeoplewhocamebeforemeworkedsohardto
makethisworldabetterplaceforme.Iknowmyworkistomaketheworldabetterplaceforthose
comingafter.AslongasIcanrememberthis,IcancontinuetodotheworkIwasputheretodo.
Onthejourneytowritingthisbook,mydad,JackWoodson,chimedinwhenhecould.EvenasI
writethis,Ismilebecausemyfatheralwaysmakesmelaugh.IliketothinkIacquiredabitofhis
senseofhumor.Ididn’tknowhimformanyyears.WhenImethimagainattheageoffourteen,it
wasasthoughapuzzlepiecehaddroppedfromtheairandlandedrightwhereitbelonged.Mydadis
thatpuzzlepiece.
GapswerealsofilledinbymyfriendMaria,whohelpedthejourneyalongwithpicturesand
stories.Whenwewerelittle,weusedtosaywe’donedaybeoldladiestogether,sittinginrocking
chairsrememberingourchildhoodandlaughing.We’vebeenfriendsfornearlyfivedecadesnowand
stillcalleachotherMyForeverFriend.IhopeeveryonehasaForeverFriendintheirlife.
Butattheendoftheday,IwasalonewithBrownGirlDreaming—walkingthroughthesememories
andmakingsenseoutofmyselfasawriterinawayIhadneverdonebefore.
IamoftenaskedifIhadahardlifegrowingup.Ithinkmylifewasverycomplicatedandvery
rich.Lookingbackonit,Ithinkmylifewasatonceordinaryandamazing.Icouldn’timagineany
otherlife.IknowthatIwasluckyenoughtobebornduringatimewhentheworldwaschanginglike
crazy—andthatIwasapartofthatchange.IknowthatIwasandcontinuetobeloved.
Icouldn’taskforanythingmore.
thankfuls
Iamthankfulformymemory.Whenitneededhelponthejourney,Iamalsothankfulformy
fabulouseditor,NancyPaulsen.MorehelpcamefromSaraLaFleur.Thisbookwouldn’tbeinthe
worldwithoutmyfamily,includingHope,Odella,andRoman,Toshi,Jackson-Leroi,andJuliet—
thankyouforyourpatienceandthoroughreadingandrereading.Thankstomyforeverfriend,Maria
Cortez-Ocasio,herhusband,Sam,andherdaughtersJillian,Samantha,andAngelina.Evenher
grandson,LittleSammy.Andofcourse,hermom,Darma—thanksforfeedingmesowelloverthe
years.
ToshiReagon,thanksforreadingthisandsittingwithmeasIfrettedoverit.Thanksforyour
music,yourguidance,yourstories.
OntheOhioside:abigbigthank-youtomyauntAda—genealogistextraordinaire!—andtomy
auntAliciaandmyuncleDavidand,ofcourse,mydad,JackWoodson.
OntheGreenvilleside:bigthankstomycousinsMichaelandSherylIrby,MeganIrby,Michael
andKennethSullivan,DorothyVaughn-Welch,SamuelMiller,La’Brandon,MonicaVaughn,andall
myotherrelativeswhoopenedtheirdoors,letmein,toldmetheirstories!
InNorthCarolina,thankssomuchtoStephanieGrant,AraWilson,Augusta,andJosephinefor
thatfabulouslyquietguestroomanddinnerattheendofthedayformanydaysuntilthisbookwas
closetobeingintheworld.
OntheBrooklynandVermontsides:thankstomyvillage.Sogratefulforallofyou!
Inmemory:thankstomymom,MaryAnneWoodson,myunclesOdellandRobertIrby,my
grandmotherGeorgianaScottIrby,mygrandfatherGunnarIrby,andmyauntHalliqueCaroline
(Kay)Irby.
Thesethankfulswouldn’tbecompletewithoutacknowledgingthemyriadteacherswho,inmany
differentways,pointedthisbrowngirltowardherdream.