kitchenette building

We are things of dry hours and the involuntary plan,

Grayed in, and gray. "Dream" makes a giddy sound, not strong

Like "rent", "feeding a wife", "satisfying a man".

 

But could a dream send up through onion fumes

Its white and violet, fight with fried potatoes

And yesterday's garbage ripening in the hall,

Flutter, or sing an aria down these rooms

 

Even if we were willing to let it in,

Had time to warm it, keep it clean,

Anticipate a message, let it begin?

 

We wonder. But not will! not for a minute!

Since Number Five is out of the bathroom now,

We think of lukewarm water and hope to get in it.

1945

 

The Bean Eaters

They eat beans mostly, this old yellow pair.

Dinner is a casual affair.

Plain chipware on a plain and creaking wood,

Tin flatware.

 

Two who are Mostly Good.

Two who have lived their day,

But keep on putting on their clothes

And putting things away.

 

And remembering...

Remembering, with twinklings and twinges,

As they lean over the beans in their rented back room that is full of beads and receipts and dolls and clothes, tobacco crumbs, vases and fringes.

1960

 

We Real Cool

THE POOL PLAYERS.

SEVEN AT THE GOLDEN SHOVEL.

 

We real cool. We

Left school. We

 

Lurk late. We

Strike straight. We

 

Sing sin. We

Thin gin. We

 

Jazz June. We

Die soon.

1960

 

The Coora Flower

Today I learned the coora flower

grows high in the mountains of Itty-go-luba Besa.

Province Meechee.

Pop. 39.

 

Now I am coming home.

This, at least, is Real, and what I know.

 

It was restful, learning nothing necessary.

School is tiny vacation. At least you can sleep.

At least you can think of love or feeling your boy friend against you

(which is not free from grief).

 

But now it's Real Business.

I am Coming Home.

 

My mother will be screaming in an almost dirty dress.

The crack is gone. So a Man will be in the house.

 

I must watch myself.

I must not dare to sleep.

1991