These are two poems I'm going to read that come from composites
of some students that I had at Sarah
Lawrence, African-American students
I had at Sarah Lawrence.
First one is a true story.
As she told me and I just wrote it down.
It's called "Spic."
"This time, all they do was roll the window down,
framing your body after they pull the car over,
oh I'm sorry, after they pulled the car
over the lip of the curb.
This time, it only goes this far.
No bullets.
No spit.
No hard clack of a door announcing its desire to spring
open.
This time, you're let off with just a reminder.
There are catcalls.
A loose slice of male tongues.
A dumb prayer of turf.
They mispronounce your complexion, black woman
and roll away, you think, for darker skin."