The Future Is Black as a Pocket
After Kara Walker’s “Untitled,” 2020
The handwriting is on the wall
a white smear across the face of the sky
a smear of white
a white chalk smear on a blackboard sky
an inky bleed that eats everything.
Come clean. In the dark
we all look alike,
right? Wing of a bald eagle
blinking back mini strokes
in the eye, aperture, strobe
light. Look:
There’s always something in the corner.
Of the eye, the room, a little sliver
of something unsavory. Some femme’s
back black overrun
by the charcoal drip (grip) snatched
up in the fist
by the unwell iron fist
overwritten out of history’s
pages. It’s hard
to even see
who’s still here.
Notes:
This poem is part of the portfolio “Kara Walker: Back of Hand.” View all artwork from the portfolio, including the one this poem is after, or read the rest of the portfolio in the April 2024 issue.
Source:
Poetry
(April 2024)
