WEBVTT

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--from Captivity?

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I grew up in a
neighborhood that was--

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well, I think I'll read
"Blackbottom" first of all,

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and then you'll see what
happened in my family

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in the early 1940s.

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"Blackbottom."

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"When relatives came
from out of town,

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we would drive down
to Blackbottom.

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Drive slowly down the
congested main streets,

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Beubien and Hastings trapped
in the mesh of Saturday night.

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Freshly escaped,
Black middle class.

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We snickered and were proud.

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The louder the
streets, the prouder.

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We laughed at the bright clothes
of a prostitute, a man sitting

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on a curb with a
bottle in his hand.

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We smelled barbecue cooking
and dented wash tubs

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and our mouths watered.

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As much as we wanted it, we
couldn't take the chance.

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Rhythm and blues came from
the windows, the throaty voice

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of a woman lost in the bass
and the drums in the dirty

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down and out, the grind.

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I love to see a funeral,
then I know it ain't mine.

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We rolled our windows down so
that the waves rolled over us

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like blood.

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We hope to pass invisibly,
knowing on Monday

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we would return safely to
our jobs, the post office,

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and classrooms.

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We wanted our suffering
to be offered up

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as tender meat and our
triumphs to be belted out

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as raucous song.

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We had lost our
voice in the suburbs,

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in Conant Gardens, where
each brick house delineated

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offensive silence.

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We had lost the right to sing in
the streets and damn creation.

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We returned to wash
our hands of them,

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to smell them whose very
existence tore us down

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to the human."

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