Sherbet
The problem here is that
This isn’t pretty, the
Sort of thing that
Can easily be dealt with
With words. After
All it’s
A horror story to sit,
A black man with
A white wife in
The middle of a hot
Sunday afternoon in
The Jefferson Hotel in
Richmond, Va., and wait
Like a criminal for service
From a young white waitress
Who has decided that
This looks like something
She doesn’t want
To be a part of. What poetry
Could describe the
Perfect angle of
This woman’s back as
She walks, just so,
Mapping the room off
Like the end of a
Border dispute, which
Metaphor could turn
The room more perfectly
Into a group of
Islands? And when
The manager finally
Arrives, what language
Do I use
To translate the nervous
Eye motions, the yawning
Afternoon silence, the
Prayer beneath
His simple inquiries,
The sherbet which
He then brings to the table personally,
Just to be certain
The doubt
Stays on our side
Of the fence? What do
We call the rich,
Sweet taste of
Frozen oranges in
This context? What do
We call a weight that
Doesn’t fingerprint,
Won’t shift,
And can’t explode?
________________________________________________________________________
This isn’t pretty, the
Sort of thing that
Can easily be dealt with
With words. After
All it’s
A horror story to sit,
A black man with
A white wife in
The middle of a hot
Sunday afternoon in
The Jefferson Hotel in
Richmond, Va., and wait
Like a criminal for service
From a young white waitress
Who has decided that
This looks like something
She doesn’t want
To be a part of. What poetry
Could describe the
Perfect angle of
This woman’s back as
She walks, just so,
Mapping the room off
Like the end of a
Border dispute, which
Metaphor could turn
The room more perfectly
Into a group of
Islands? And when
The manager finally
Arrives, what language
Do I use
To translate the nervous
Eye motions, the yawning
Afternoon silence, the
Prayer beneath
His simple inquiries,
The sherbet which
He then brings to the table personally,
Just to be certain
The doubt
Stays on our side
Of the fence? What do
We call the rich,
Sweet taste of
Frozen oranges in
This context? What do
We call a weight that
Doesn’t fingerprint,
Won’t shift,
And can’t explode?
________________________________________________________________________
From The Gathering of My Name
(Carnegie Mellon University Press, 1991). Copyright © 1991 by Cornelius
Eady. Used with the permission of Carnegie Mellon University Press.
