Scrapbooks
it's funny that smells and sounds return
so all alone uncalled unneeded
on a sweaty night as i sit armed
with coffee and cigarettes waiting
sometimes it seems
my life is a scrapbook
i usta get 1.50 per week
for various duties unperformed
while i read -green dolphin street-
and -the sun is my undoing-
never understanding my exclusion
but knowing quite clearly the hero
is always misunderstood
though always right in the end
roy gave me a yellow carnation
that year for the junior prom
the red rose was from michael
who was the prettiest boy i'd ever known
he took me to the -jack and jill- dance
and left me sitting in the corner until
the slow drags came on then he danced
real tight and sweated out my bangs
i had a white leather monstrosity that passed
for taste in my adolescence pressed with dances
undanced through the songs were melodious
and somehow three or four books were filled
with proms and parties and programs that
my grandmother made me go to
for "culture" so that i could be
a lady
my favorite is the fisk book with clippings of the -forum- and notes from the dean of women
saying "you are on social probation" and "you are
suspended from fisk"
and letters from my mother saying "behave yourself"
and letters from my grandmother reminding me
"your grandfather graduated fisk in 1905" and not
to try to run the school
but mostly notes from alvin asking when
was i coming over
again
i purchased a blue canvas notebook for the refrain
it's really something when you sit
watching dawn peep over apartment buildings
that seemed so ominous during the night and see
pages of smiling pictures groups of girls throwing
pillows couples staring nervously ahead as if they
think the kodak will eat them someone with a ponytail
and a miles davis record a lady with an afro pointing
joyously to a diploma a girl in a brown tan and red
bathing suit holding a baby that looks like you
and now there is a black leather book filled
efficiently by a clipping service
and a pile of unaswered letters that remind
you to love those who love you
and i sit at dawn
all my defenses gone sometimes
listening to -something cool- sometimes
hearing -tears on my pillow-
and know there must be other books
filled with failures and family and friends
that perhaps one day I can unfold
for my grandchildren
-Nikki Giovanni
so all alone uncalled unneeded
on a sweaty night as i sit armed
with coffee and cigarettes waiting
sometimes it seems
my life is a scrapbook
i usta get 1.50 per week
for various duties unperformed
while i read -green dolphin street-
and -the sun is my undoing-
never understanding my exclusion
but knowing quite clearly the hero
is always misunderstood
though always right in the end
roy gave me a yellow carnation
that year for the junior prom
the red rose was from michael
who was the prettiest boy i'd ever known
he took me to the -jack and jill- dance
and left me sitting in the corner until
the slow drags came on then he danced
real tight and sweated out my bangs
i had a white leather monstrosity that passed
for taste in my adolescence pressed with dances
undanced through the songs were melodious
and somehow three or four books were filled
with proms and parties and programs that
my grandmother made me go to
for "culture" so that i could be
a lady
my favorite is the fisk book with clippings of the -forum- and notes from the dean of women
saying "you are on social probation" and "you are
suspended from fisk"
and letters from my mother saying "behave yourself"
and letters from my grandmother reminding me
"your grandfather graduated fisk in 1905" and not
to try to run the school
but mostly notes from alvin asking when
was i coming over
again
i purchased a blue canvas notebook for the refrain
it's really something when you sit
watching dawn peep over apartment buildings
that seemed so ominous during the night and see
pages of smiling pictures groups of girls throwing
pillows couples staring nervously ahead as if they
think the kodak will eat them someone with a ponytail
and a miles davis record a lady with an afro pointing
joyously to a diploma a girl in a brown tan and red
bathing suit holding a baby that looks like you
and now there is a black leather book filled
efficiently by a clipping service
and a pile of unaswered letters that remind
you to love those who love you
and i sit at dawn
all my defenses gone sometimes
listening to -something cool- sometimes
hearing -tears on my pillow-
and know there must be other books
filled with failures and family and friends
that perhaps one day I can unfold
for my grandchildren
-Nikki Giovanni