A Writing Prompt

 

[Editor’s Note: I wrote this in a reflection on the Black Fatigue conversation currently sweeping social media. This incident happened forty years ago and is vivid in my memory. I believe the woman in the fitted blue suit–her name is Dennise, it came to me yesterday morning–would be hurt and distressed at where we’ve landed in race relations in America. She might well have a red hat today]

“Everything you see, everything you encounter is of indefinite complexity”. Jonathan Pageau

And this, out of nowhere came to mind: The intricate weave in the delicate cotton doilies on the arm of Rosa Parks’ sofa

That quick a picture of a woman’s back
trim in a fitted blue suit
standing in front of me as the Canon hums along
tapping a slim foot in modest heels
as hundreds of copies of dozens of pages
collate staple and fall into the tray
a thunking metronome
Her black hair stiff in a 60s that girl bob
her skin the color of the semi bitter chocolate
just then coming into stores
I know her a little, in the cubicle world we share
so when department memos and birthday cards are passed along
in worn brown envelopes secured with a twist and tug of string
you will notice if you look
that her signature never varies and that her wardrobe is faultless
in the way a parochial school uniform may aim for faultless
Oh I wish writing this I could recall her name forty years gone!
I remember her dear friends Meri and Pam–the three of them inseparable
as together they formed Sistahs on the Move
a home grown charity lost in its time
They sponsored bowling tournaments and bake sales
and at the last tourney
a very large, very homely young black woman in a modest dress
this woman born into dire poverty
was sought out, supported, and loved into hope
by these three random sistah hearts
stood at the scoring table and announced
her acceptance into a BA program
with a beaming smile which brought
beauty and grace to her face
which brought tears to the group
which brought looks to the table
I recall all this in an instant in the way memory works
when I said to the back in the fitted blue suit
‘Your home had doilies growing up, didn’t it?”
and she turned to me
with an expression I cannot now help you see and synthesize
but was to me as if I had just discovered
a family password sworn in strictest secrecy by chance
Yes, yes we did, she said, whatever prompted you to ask?!