Read The Collected Poetry of Nikki Giovanni Online
Authors: Nikki Giovanni
The Collected Poetry of Nikki Giovanni (23 page)
I think hands must be very importantâ¦Hands: plait hairâ¦knead breadâ¦spank bottomsâ¦wring in anguishâ¦shake the air in exasperationâ¦wipe tears, sweat, and pain from facesâ¦are at the end of arms which holdâ¦Yes handsâ¦Let's start with the handsâ¦
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My grandmother washed on Mondaysâ¦every Mondayâ¦If you were a visiting grandchild or a resident daughterâ¦every Monday morning at 6:00
A.M
â¦. mostly in the darkâ¦frequently in the coldâ¦certainly aloneâ¦you heard her on the back porch starting to humâ¦as Black Christian ladies are prone to doâ¦at thresholdâ¦some plea to higher beings for forgiveness and the power to forgiveâ¦
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I saw a photograph once of the mother of Emmett Tillâ¦a slight, brown woman with pillbox hatâ¦white glovesâ¦eyes dark beyond painâ¦incomprehensibly looking at a world that never intended to see her son be a manâ¦That same look is created each yearâ¦without the hat and gloves, for mother seals are not chicâ¦at the Arctic Circleâ¦That same look is in vogue in Atlanta, Cincinnati, Buffaloâ¦for much the same reasonâ¦During one brief moment, for one passing wrinkle in time, Nancy Reagan wore that lookâ¦sharing a bond, as yet unconsummatedâ¦with Betty Shabazz, Jacqueline Kennedy, Coretta King, Ethel Kennedyâ¦The wives and mothers are not so radically differentâ¦It is the hands of the women which massage the balmâ¦the ointmentsâ¦the lotions into the bodies for burialâ¦It is our hands which: cover the eyes of small childrenâ¦soothe the longing of the brothersâ¦make the bedsâ¦set the tablesâ¦wipe away our own griefâ¦to give comfort to those beyond comfortâ¦
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I yield from women whose hands are Black and roughâ¦The women who produced me are in defiance of Porcelana and Jergens
lotionâ¦are ignorant of Madge's need to soak their fingernails in Palmolive dishwashing liquidâ¦My women look at crackedâ¦jagged fingernails that will never be adequately disguised by Revlon's new spring redsâ¦We of the unacceptably strong take pride in the strength of our handsâ¦
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Some people think a quilt is a blanket stretched across a Lincoln bedâ¦or from frames on a wallâ¦a quaint museum piece to be purchased on Bloomingdale's 30-day same-as-cash planâ¦Quilts are our mosaicsâ¦
Michelle-Angelo's
contribution to beautyâ¦We weave a quilt with dry, rough handsâ¦Quilts are the way our lives are livedâ¦We survive on patchesâ¦scrapsâ¦the leftovers from a materially richer cultureâ¦the throwaways from those with emotional optionsâ¦We do the far more difficult job of taking that which nobody wants and not only loving itâ¦not only seeing its worthâ¦but making it lovableâ¦and intrinsically worthwhileâ¦
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Though triteâ¦it's nonetheless trueâ¦that a little knowledge is a dangerous thingâ¦Perhaps pitiful thing would be more accurateâ¦though that too is not profoundâ¦The more we experience the human dramaâ¦the more we are to understandâ¦that whatever is not quite well about us will also not quite go awayâ¦
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Sometimesâ¦when it's something like Mother's Dayâ¦you really do wish you were smart enough to make the pain stopâ¦to make the little hurts quit throbbingâ¦to share with Star Trek's Spock the ability to touch your fingertips to the temples and make all the dumbâ¦uglyâ¦sad things of this world ease from memoryâ¦It's not at all that we fail to forgive others for the hurts we have receivedâ¦we cannot forgive ourselves for the hurts we have metedâ¦Soâ¦of courseâ¦we use our hands to push away rather than to pull closerâ¦
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We lookâ¦in vainâ¦for an image of mothersâ¦for an analogy for familiesâ¦for a reason to continueâ¦We liveâ¦mostly
because we don't know any betterâ¦as best we canâ¦Some of us are luckyâ¦we learn to like ourselvesâ¦to forgive ourselvesâ¦to care about othersâ¦Some of usâ¦on special occasionsâ¦watch the ladies in the purple velvet house slippers with the long black dresses come in from Sunday worship and we realize
man
never stood up to catch and kill preyâ¦
man
never reared up on his hind legs to free his front parts to hold weaponsâ¦WOMAN stood to free her handsâ¦to hold her youngâ¦to embrace her sons and loversâ¦WOMAN stood to applaud and cheer a delicate mate who needs her approvalâ¦WOMAN stood to wipe the tears and sweatâ¦to touch the eyes and lipsâ¦that woman stood to free the arms which hold the handsâ¦which hold.
Not more than we can bearâ¦more than we should have toâ¦Those of us lacking the grace to kill ourselves take it in the gutâ¦from a gun or gossipâ¦what's the differenceâ¦Anything in the name of the Lordâ¦or Freudâ¦and don't forget the book contracts and possible made-for-TV-movies starring that cute little buttoned-down guy who you recently saw making some sort of deal with a game show hostâ¦It's bad form to point out that Jesus didn't wear no shoes nor carry any guns and wasn't even known to have a choice on the presidential preference poll (though His father was quoted a lot)â¦He has been seen however a lot at football games cheering the Catholic teams on to victoryâ¦let us all be born just one more timeâ¦we may yet get itâ¦rightâ¦
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Something's wrong and this is not a poemâ¦the main difference being that you didn't think it wasâ¦Unlike those who profess to be caring and Christian I didn't fool youâ¦it's not about John Lennon eitherâ¦he's deadâ¦And the man who killed him is cutting a dealâ¦with doctors whose only operations are with lawyers over how to split the money and the 15 minutes of fame Andy Warhol so solemnly promisedâ¦What a pitiful country this isâ¦Our beloved mayor who prefers capital punishment to Jesus as a foolish belief all of a sudden defends the violence of New York by saying, “But golly gee fellows there is violence in England too”â¦Yes indeedy folks it's not the gun but the manâ¦Maybe the New Right is finally right about somethingâ¦Let's ban the menâ¦Let's make them justify their existence and their right to survivalâ¦Let us set up a boardâ¦a bureaucracy evenâ¦where each one must come in and fill out in triplicate the reasons why he should be allowed to liveâ¦All potential suicides need not bother to applyâ¦They can save us all grief by killing them real selves instead of they play selvesâ¦Strange isn't it if you try to live by getting a job or creating one there is no helpâ¦If you
try to die by drugs or pills or slicing your wrists you become very very significantâ¦Noâ¦Not more than we can bearâ¦more than we ought toâ¦
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But those who ride the night winds must learn to love the starsâ¦those who live on the edge must get used to the cutsâ¦We are told if we live in glass houses to neither throw nor stow the stonesâ¦We are warned of bric-a-brac that easily breaksâ¦IF YOU BREAK IT YOU BOUGHT ITâ¦the store sign saysâ¦science being such a tenuous commodity we can only half believe for every action there is an equal and opposite reactionâ¦But if Newton was as correct about apples as the snake we are at the beginning not the endâ¦Those who have nothing to offer take something awayâ¦Don't cry for John Lennon cry for ourselvesâ¦He was an astronaut of inner spaceâ¦He celebrated happinessâ¦soothed the lonelyâ¦braced the wearyâ¦gave word to the deafâ¦vision to the insensitiveâ¦sang a long low note when he reached the edge of this universe and saw the Blacknessâ¦Poetryâ¦like photographyâ¦functions best not only in the available light but in the timeliness of the subjectâ¦There are always those painters who think the only proper subjects are those who can rent the galleriesâ¦Others know we who cut stone must envision cathedralsâ¦I don't believe you know someone just because you like what they do for a livingâ¦or the product of itâ¦You don't feel you know David Rockefeller and you all like moneyâ¦or what it can buyâ¦You don't feel you know or want to know Jerry Falwell and you all want to go to heavenâ¦or so you sayâ¦No this is not about John Lennonâ¦He only wrote and sang some songsâ¦So did Chuck Willisâ¦Johnny Aceâ¦Sam Cookeâ¦Otis Reddingâ¦The blood on city streets and backcountry roads isn't newâ¦but now we can call this game exactly what it isâ¦This isn't about somebody who killedâ¦eitherâ¦It's always a nut though isn't itâ¦cashewâ¦peanutâ¦walnutâ¦pistachioâ¦yeahâ¦a real pissedaschio nutâ¦But take comfort music loversâ¦Reagan supports gun controlâ¦ling freaksâ¦And those who ride the night winds do
learn to love the starsâ¦even while crying in the darknessâ¦The whole may be greater than the sum of its partsâ¦we'll never know nowâ¦one part is missing. No this is not about John Lennonâ¦It's about usâ¦And the night windsâ¦Anybody want a ticket to ride?
The face in the windowâ¦is not the face in the mirrorâ¦Mirrors aren't for windowsâ¦they would block the lightâ¦Mirrors are for bedroom wallsâ¦or closet doorsâ¦Windows show who we hope to beâ¦Mirrors reflect who we areâ¦Mirrorsâ¦like religious fervorsâ¦are privateâ¦and actually uninteresting to those not involvedâ¦Windows open upâ¦bring a fresh viewâ¦windows make us vulnerable
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The French teach us in loveâ¦there is always one who kissesâ¦and one who offersâ¦the cheekâ¦There is many a slipâ¦'twixt the cup and the lipâ¦that's the reasonâ¦napkins were bornâ¦In loveâ¦there is always the hurtâ¦and the hurterâ¦even when the hurter doesn't wantâ¦to hurtâ¦the hurtee selfishly strikes
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Lipsâ¦like brownish gray gulls infested by contact with polluted waters circling a new jersey garbage heapâ¦flap in anticipation
Lipsâ¦like an old pot-bellied unshaven voyeur with the grease of his speciality packed under his dirty ragged fingernailsâ¦move with the glee of getting a good lick in
Lipsâ¦like a blind man describing an elephant by touchâ¦give inadequate information
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There are thingsâ¦that we knowâ¦yet don't want to seeâ¦NOT THINGSâ¦like abused childrenâ¦that is public painâ¦and light must be focusedâ¦to bring the healing heatâ¦NOT THINGSâ¦like battered wivesâ¦that is public policyâ¦if we allow silence to cover the criesâ¦NOR THINGSâ¦like the emotionally troubledâ¦only Dick and Janeâ¦or Ozzie and Harrietâ¦are always smilingâ¦NOT THINGSâ¦like people in wheelchairsâ¦who need sidewalk accessâ¦NOR THINGSâ¦like the unsightedâ¦who need braille in public elevatorsâ¦
BUT THINGSâ¦like loveâ¦and promises made after midnightâ¦the rituals and responsibilities of courtshipâ¦have no placeâ¦in the court yardâ¦are not a part of the public seeâ¦Pillow Talk is only a movie starring Doris Day or a song by Sylviaâ¦something delightful if you're luckyâ¦or necessary if you're needyâ¦but always privateâ¦since you're human
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The hands of children breakâ¦drinking glassesâ¦dinner platesâ¦wooden busesâ¦dolls with long blond hairâ¦Lego structuresâ¦downâ¦While playing blind man's bluffâ¦flower heads and beds suffer little gym-toed carelessnessâ¦When playing kickballâ¦baseballâ¦footballâ¦soccerâ¦windows unshuttered shatterâ¦it's only naturalâ¦they are childrenâ¦Childish adults want to break mirrorsâ¦want to shatter livesâ¦While eating and playing paraphernalia are easily replacedâ¦toys forgottenâ¦flowers regrownâ¦windows quickly repairedâ¦sometimes with a scolding/sometimes with a shrugâ¦mirrors brokenâ¦promise seven yearsâ¦bad luckâ¦Like Humpty Dumptyâ¦livesâ¦once exposed to great heightsâ¦seem destinedâ¦for great fallsâ¦and are seldom properly repaired
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Some people choose heroesâ¦because they kiss a horseâ¦and rideâ¦aloneâ¦into the sunsetâ¦Some choose a heroâ¦because he robbed the richâ¦and gave to the poorâ¦Some want to emulate livesâ¦that discovered cures for exotic diseasesâ¦or made a lot of money off foolish endeavorsâ¦One of my heroesâ¦is a tennis playerâ¦who has the courage of her gameâ¦and her life⦓It Was A Mistake” for sureâ¦if courtship turns to courtsâ¦if letters written to share a feeling come backâ¦to testify against you⦓It Was A Mistake” to choose the myopicâ¦selfishâ¦greedy as a repository of a feeling⦓It Was A Mistake” to want that which does not want you but what you can doâ¦but It Cannot Be A Mistake to have caredâ¦It Cannot Be An Error to have triedâ¦It Cannot Be Incorrect to have loved
It is illogical to spitâ¦upon a face you once kissed
It is meanâ¦to blacken eyesâ¦which once beheld you
It is wrongâ¦to punish the bestâ¦within
One of my heroes embracedâ¦Medusaâ¦but the mirror will not breakâ¦it only shatteredâ¦The window did not crackâ¦it only openedâ¦I am not ashamedâ¦only sadâ¦not for my heroâ¦but for those who fail to seeâ¦the true championshipâ¦match
What would a little girl thinkâ¦boarding a bigâ¦at least to herâ¦shipâ¦setting sail on a bigâ¦to everybodyâ¦oceanâ¦Perhaps seeing her firstâ¦icebergâ¦or whaleâ¦or sharkâ¦Watching the blue water kissâ¦the blue skyâ¦and blow white cloudsâ¦to the horizonâ¦My motherâ¦caused aweâ¦in me for blowingâ¦smoke ringsâ¦What would a little girl thinkâ¦leaving Senegalâ¦for that which had no nameâ¦and when one was obtainedâ¦no place for herâ¦
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You see them nowâ¦though they were alwaysâ¦thereâ¦the children of Hester Prynneâ¦walking the streetsâ¦needing a placeâ¦to eatâ¦sleepâ¦Beâ¦warmâ¦lovedâ¦aloneâ¦togetherâ¦completeâ¦The blockâ¦that little Black girlsâ¦stood uponâ¦is the same blockâ¦they now walkâ¦with little white boys and girlsâ¦selling themselvesâ¦to the adequateâ¦bidderâ¦
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Hagar was a little Black girlâ¦chosen by Sarah and Abrahamâ¦looked like a breederâ¦they saidâ¦Phillisâ¦a little Black girlâ¦chosen by Wheatleyâ¦looked intelligentâ¦make a cute petâ¦for the childrenâ¦Old menâ¦sweat curling round their collarsâ¦choose a body and actâ¦on the waitâ¦through the tunnel to Jerseyâ¦Looked like funâ¦they sayâ¦Family membersâ¦and family friendsâ¦inhale to intoxicationâ¦the allure of the youthsâ¦destroying in conceptionâ¦that which has never beenâ¦bornâ¦
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Eyesâ¦they sayâ¦are the mirrorâ¦of the soulâ¦a reflectionâ¦of the spiritâ¦an informerâ¦to realityâ¦What do you seeâ¦if you are a little Black girlâ¦standing on a stageâ¦waiting to be purchasedâ¦Is there kindnessâ¦concernâ¦compassionâ¦in the faces examining youâ¦Do your eyes showâ¦or other eyes acknowledgeâ¦that youâ¦duskyâ¦
naked of clothes and tongueâ¦stripped of the protection of Godsâ¦and countrymenâ¦are Humanâ¦Do you see those who purchaseâ¦or those who soldâ¦Do you see those who grab at youâ¦or those who refused to shield youâ¦Are you grateful to be boughtâ¦or soldâ¦What would you thinkâ¦of a peopleâ¦who allowedâ¦nay encouragedâ¦abettedâ¦regaledâ¦in your chainsâ¦Handsâ¦that handle heavy objectsâ¦develop callousesâ¦Feet in shoes too tightâ¦develop cornsâ¦Minds that cannot comprehendâ¦like lovers separated too longâ¦develop an affinity for what isâ¦and an indifferenceâ¦if not hostilityâ¦to that which has been deniedâ¦Little white boysâ¦stalking Park Avenueâ¦little white girlsâ¦on the Minnesota Stripâ¦are also slavesâ¦to the uncaringâ¦of a nationâ¦
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It cannot be unusualâ¦that the gene remembersâ¦It dividesâ¦and redividesâ¦and subdividesâ¦again and again and againâ¦to make the eyes brownâ¦the fingers longâ¦the hair coarseâ¦the nose broadâ¦the pigment Blackâ¦the mind intelligentâ¦It cannot be unusualâ¦that one geneâ¦from all the billions upon billionsâ¦remembered clitorectomiesâ¦infibulationsâ¦women beatenâ¦children hungryâ¦garbage heapingâ¦open sewersâ¦men laughingâ¦at it allâ¦It cannot be unusualâ¦that the darkâ¦duskyâ¦murky worldâ¦of druggeryâ¦drumsâ¦witch doctorsâ¦incantationsâ¦MAGICâ¦was willingly shedâ¦for the Enlightenmentâ¦At least manâ¦was considered rationalâ¦At least booksâ¦dispensed knowledgeâ¦At least Godâ¦though still angry and jealousâ¦was reachable through prayer and actionâ¦if those are not redundantâ¦termsâ¦We cannot be surprised that young Phillis chose poetryâ¦as others choose prostitutionâ¦to express her dismayâ¦
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The criticsâ¦from a safe seat in the balconyâ¦disdain her performanceâ¦reject her realityâ¦ignore her truthsâ¦How could sheâ¦they askâ¦thank God she was broughtâ¦and
boughtâ¦in this Landâ¦How dare sheâ¦they decriedâ¦cheer George Washington his victoryâ¦Why couldn't sheâ¦they want to knowâ¦be more likeâ¦more likeâ¦more likeâ¦The record sticksâ¦Phillis was her own precedentâ¦her own imageâ¦her only ancestorâ¦She wasn't like Harriet Tubman because she is Tubmanâ¦with Penâ¦rather than bodyâ¦Leading herselfâ¦and therefore her peopleâ¦from bondageâ¦not like Sojourner Truthâ¦she was Truthâ¦using words on paperâ¦to make the caseâ¦that slavery is peopleâ¦and wrong to doâ¦We know nothing of the Lifeâ¦we who judge othersâ¦of the conditionsâ¦we createâ¦and expect others to live withâ¦or beyondâ¦broken spiritsâ¦broken heartsâ¦misplaced loveâ¦fruitless endeavorâ¦Womenâ¦are considered completeâ¦when they marryâ¦We have doneâ¦it is consideredâ¦our dutyâ¦when we safely deliver a person from the bondage of Fatherâ¦to the bondage of dutyâ¦and husbandâ¦from house slaves who read and writeâ¦to housewives who have time for neitherâ¦We are happyâ¦when their own race is chosenâ¦their own class reaffirmedâ¦their own desire submergedâ¦into foodâ¦dishesâ¦laundryâ¦babiesâ¦no dreams this week thank you I haven't the timeâ¦Like overripe fruit in an orchard embraced by frostâ¦the will to live turns rottenâ¦fecklessâ¦feculentâ¦
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What is a womanâ¦to thinkâ¦when all she hearsâ¦are words that exclude herâ¦all she feelsâ¦are emotions that deceiveâ¦What do the children thinkâ¦in their evening questâ¦of those who from platform and pulpitâ¦deride their conditionâ¦yet purchase their serviceâ¦What must life beâ¦to any young captiveâ¦of its timeâ¦Do we send them backâ¦home to the remembered horrorsâ¦Do we allow them their elsewheresâ¦to parade their talentsâ¦Do we pretend that all is wellâ¦that Endsâ¦
