Graduation

Cinnamon and rayon,
Jet and coconut eyes,
Mary Lulu Jackson
Smooths the skirt
At her thighs.

Mama, portly oven,
Brings remainders from the kitchen
Where the people all are icebergs
Wrapped in checks and wealthy.

Diploma in its new frame:
Mary Lulu Jackson,
Eating chicken,
Tells her mama she’s a typist
And the clicking of the keys
Will spell the name
Of a job in a fine office
Far removed from basic oven,
Cookstoves,
And iceberg’s kitchen.

Mama says, Praise ]esus!
Until then
I’ll bring home chicken!

The Diploma bursts its frame
To scatter star-dust in their eyes.

Mama says, Praise Jesus!
The colored race will rise!

Mama says,
Praise Jesus!

Then,
Because she’s tired,
She sighs.