…NYC, NY September 1992

 

Growing up, I was a rather ordinary looking “duck.”

The boys would not take a second turn, especially when it mattered in middle and high school

(Old school litmus). Move the camera forward and time has been kinder

To my looks past secondary school.

 

Imagine a September evening sky heavy with moon…

Imagine a Friday night on the town with friends…

Imagine a solitary BLACK woman walking in a city too big to manage alone.

 

One Harlem night, newly transplanted,

I head to the village to meet friends.

Before arriving, I’m accosted verbally

By four young black men riding shotgun on each window of the black maxima following 

Measure for measure down the block. All windows are down,

And I nervously respond to their calls,

 

“Hey, Mami,” they call out in turn, faces illumined by the car’s overhead light.

…as defense, “I am not interested”

 Outnumbered: careful steps, eyes on the ground, on the car, straight ahead

And the whole loop repeats itself….

 

The pace: brisk and unwavering. First mind: respond with query,

Until they peel off--

All I want is to be left alone, run from here—

“How y’all doing tonight BROTHAS--”

 

Animatedly, “Want a ride…”  

“No thanks …headed for the train…”

ALWAYS the trick: look but not too long, be friendly but not interested--

How much is enough without raising their ire is the task.

 

The moon tracks over head as I make my way down into the bowels of the station

Filled with void of dark and dank, a scab turned on itself.

 Attractive though I may now bee

With this certain burden: SUN streaked locs, shoulder length and causing heads to turn. This night,

I know for certain I’ll shear them and their beautiful trouble

                                                             Come morning.