Donna Kate Rushin: The Tired Poem: Last Letter from a Typical Unemployed Black Professional Woman
The Tired Poem: Last Letter from a Typical Unemployed Black Professional Woman
©1980 Donna Kate Rushin
So it’s a gorgeous afternoon in the park It’s so nice you forget your Attitude The one your mama taught you The one that says Don’t-Mess-With-Me You forget until you hear all this Whistling and lip-smacking You whip around and say I ain’t no damn dog It’s a young guy His mouth drops open Excuse me Sister How you doing You lie and smile and say I’m doing good Everything’s cool Brother
Then five minutes later Hey you Sweet Devil Hey girl come here You tense sigh calculate You know the lean boys and bearded men Are only cousins and lovers and friends Sometimes when you say hey You get a beautiful surprised smile Or a good talk And you’ve listened to your uncle when he was drunk Talking about how he has to scuffle to get by and How he’d wanted to be an engineer And you talk to Joko who wants to be a singer and Buy some clothes and get a house for his mother The Soc and Psych books say you’re domineering And you’ve been to enough Sisters-Are-Taking-Care-Of-Business discussions To know where you went wrong It’s decided it had to be the day you decided to go to school Still you remember the last time you said hey So you keep on walking What you too good to speak Don’t nobody want you no way Ho’
You go home sit on the front steps and listen to Your neighbor’s son brag about How many girls he has pregnant You ask him if he’s going to take care of the babies What if he gets taken to court And what are the girls going to do He has pictures of them all This real cute one was supposed to go to college Dumb broad knew she could get pregnant I’ll just say it’s not mine On the back of this picture of a girl in a cap and gown It says something like I love you in my own strange way Thank you
Then you go into the house Flip through a magazine and there is An Ode-To-My-Black-Queen poem The kind where the Brother Thanks all of the Sisters who Endured Way back when he didn’t have his Shit Together And you wonder where they are now And you know what happens when you try to resist All of this Enduring And you think how this Thank-you poem is really No consolation at all Unless you believe What the man you met on the train told you The Black man who worked for the State Department And had lived in 5 countries He said Dear you were born to suffer Why don’t you give me your address And I’ll come visit
So you try to talk to your friend About the train and the park and everything And how it all seems somehow connected And he says You’re just a typical Black Professional Woman Some sisters know how to deal Right about here Your end of the conversation phases out He goes on to say how Black Professional Women have always had the advantage You have to stop and think about that one Maybe you are supposed to be grateful for those sweaty Beefy-faced white businessmen who try to pick you up at /lunchtime And you wonder how many times your friend has had pennies /thrown at him How many times he’s been felt up in the subway How many times he’s been cussed out on the street You wonder how many times he’s been offered $10 for a piece /of himself
$10 for a piece So you’re waiting for the bus And you look at this young Black man Asking if you want to make some money You look at him for a long time You imagine the little dingy room at the Y It would only take 20 minutes or less You think about how you only get $15 for spending all day /with 30 kids
And how nobody is offering you Any cash for your poems You remember again how you have the advantage How you’re not taking care of business How this man is somebody’s kid brother or cousin and could be /your own
So you try to explain how $10 wouldn’t pay for what you’d /have to give up
He pushes a handful of sticky crumpled dollars into your face /and says Why not You think I can’t pay Look at that roll Don’t tell me you don’t need the money Cause I know you do I’ll give you 15
You maintain your sense of humor You remember a joke you heard Well no matter what A Black Woman never has to starve Just as long as there are Dirty toilets and… Somehow it isn’t funny Then you wonder if he would at least Give you the money And not beat you up But you’re very cool and say No thanks You tell him he should spend his time Looking for someone he cares about Who cares about him He waves you off Get outta my face I don’t have time for that bullshit You blew it Bitch
Then (Is it suddenly) Your voice gets loud And fills the night street Your voice gets louder and louder Your bus comes The second shift people file on The watchmen and the nurse’s aides Look at you like you’re crazy Get on the damn bus And remember You blew it He turns away You bus pulls off There is no one on the street but you
And then It is Very Quiet
The Black Goddess
©1980 Donna Kate Rushin
I am not a Black Goddess I am not a Black Goddess Look at me Look at me I do what I can That’s about it Sometimes I make it Sometimes I don’t Sometimes I know what I feel Sometimes I know what you feel and can say it But I still get Night Terrors And sometimes it takes me weeks to Answer a letter or make a phone call
I am not a Black Goddess I am not a Black Goddess
Once though I was Harriet Tubman I sat down in a small room at a small table Across from a scared Black man shaving himself with a Straight razor He’d backed the White folks into one corner then He’d backed himself into the other The cops was waiting down the road I was Harriet that once I looked at that straight razor and I looked at him I got a grip on my guts and I said Black Man there’s nothing here that’s good for you Get your things get in that truck and come with me I said move Black Man I said move Yes I was Harriet that once
But I am not a Black Goddess I am not a Black Goddess
I was raised to be agoodlittlesmalltownColoredGirl And I took it seriously I hung along the edges I stood outside the door I squeezed myself into small still polite places With a smile on my face Like that was the way it was supposed to be
So who am I Harriet Tubman or a scared little Colored Girl?
Contra? Contra? Contradictions? Contradictions? No No Contra Dictions
I am not a Black Goddess I cannot save you I am not a Black Devil I cannot destroy you There is Healing in my arms And the cold residue of fear in my cells Yes I was Harriet once But I cannot save you
I am not a Black Goddess I am not a Rock I am not a Photograph I am not a picture in your mind I am myself struggling toward myself
I am not a Black Goddess I am a Black Woman
Remember There is the residue of fear in me Remember There is Healing in my hands If you can hold these contra dictions in your head /in your heart
You can hold me in your arms
I am not a Black Goddess I am not a Black Goddess I am not a Black Goddess I am a Black Woman I am a Black Woman I am a Black Woman Do you know what I mean?