In the gymnasium the balls spun from their fingers like spiders' silk.

In the gymnasium the balls spun

from their fingers like spiders' silk,

fine and unconquerable. Leg woven

in threads of expectancy they jumped,

came down upon silent sneakers,

dashing any faiths we had of winning.

They were the blacks, the black blacks

who had the advantage of being born black.

Dunbar, the high institute that sent

a jingle in a wasted tongue to colleges

onward full scholarships. Dunbar, the high

denomination that we watched march here

to smash us one time again, we black boys

with all these white striplings too thick

to dance like a knife in the air,

to lay open cut, slice a tangled history.

Breath held back "nigger" in the air

from one side of to the other the bleachers. Breath held back

"wino junkies" below the old clock

above the hollering wooden floor where

we sang pep dittys in German, peeping

inside our shirts and ties at our own

magic. The Dunbar bards made baskets

while strolling, dreaming of rivers.

"Coach, we can't do nothing with

these darkies from Dunbar. Coach,

their bodies ain't bodies. They are

descants from somewhere unfair to us."

We, the black folk at Polytechnic,

wished from the white sea of equality

that Dunbar would stamp blackness

all through the whole extent of this stiff building to save us.

The lead had uncloseed so wide it was

too hard for The bards to keep from

laughing. They slapped their hands

and did the heavy jazz of black boys

walking away from an easy game.

In the highways we watched them stride

away in prolonged leather coats to get high,

too brilliant to live, too brilliant to die.

Michael s Weaver's fifth book of piece of poetrys is Timber & Prayer. His forthcoming numbers volume is Talisman, and his recently made known play is Candy Lips & Hallelujah. His short fiction is included in Gloria Naylor's Children of the Night. Choice magazine has described Weaver as single of the most important bards of his generation.

...

Home