Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Black Boy

I.
Among seven dark hills
the only glowing things
were the eyes of the black boy.

II.
I was of two minds, old and young.
Sadness at the sound of his taps
on the sidewalk, Bourbon Street.
And bare disdain. The black boy
wanting money
for shuffling his feet.

III.
The black boy speeding
down a London street on his moped,
gunned down by police. The black boy
speeding down a London street on his moped,
gunned down by police in a song.

IV.
A swing and a swing set are one.
A swing and a swing set
and a black boy are one.
A swing and a swing set and a black boy
and the shadow of a black boy
are one, too.

V.
I don’t know which to fear more:
the murmur of flesh about to meet,
his warmth hovering near mine.
The black boy slapping my cheek,
or just before.

VI.
The dry cracked pavement
of the schoolyard court.
The streak of the black boy
slicing it open at its seam.

VII.
O white men on the hill,
why do you imagine blinding smiles?
Do you not see how the black boy circles
around the edge of your city, humming?

VIII.
I know southern accents,
words slung low, laid out
like on a porch swing in summer,
saying this about the black boy:
He’s black, you know.

IX.
When the black boy ducked
out of sight behind his afro,
halo or hood,
the teacher bent her head down, too,
to whisper fiercely.

X.
At the sight of the black boy
tripping by in his too-long pants,
choirs of angels burst
forth in song.

XI.
In a glass house
I pelt out my words
at the black boy.
Hello, I say.
He is bored
by my bright voice.

XII.
The pedals are turning.
The black boy, he must be ridin’.

XIII.
It was the dead of night all night.
It was burning, and it was going to burn.
The black boy swung from the live oak tree.


Poet's note: A poem about encountering race and racism in our society. Do you know the poem "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird" by Wallace Stevens? My poem borrows from it in terms of form. It was shortly after I last read the Stevens poem that the words "thirteen ways of looking at a black boy" kept going through my head. They wouldn't stop going through my head, so I wrote a poem.