The FATHERS
AVERY BATTLE
When I was Damien’s age I was hard
Not that the boy should be as rough as me
But I wish we could talk a little more
He could tell me of his dreams and what part
I might play in them, if I have a part
What with his mother hovering over
Him like a protective vulture. Too harsh—
She means him well, I know she means me well
But still, I sometimes wish he would find time
To talk a little more. That would be good.
ARTHUR WILLIAMS
I heard that Leslie got herself busted
For selling drugs—some heavyweight
Action somewhere upstate. Well, she was
Always sly and fly, chasing that big paper
Hey, that big paper brings some big time
You don’t want the time—don’t do the crime
That’s the way the story goes
You got to check out where you strolling
You can’t tell people how to live their lives.
Junice? Was that her girl’s name?
How old is she? Ten? Eleven? She probably
Hanging with Leslie’s mama.
Now that was a woman who could
Drink some gin. I tell you,
She could drink some gin.
JUNICE and MELISSA
I have to open my sister’s mouth
And fill it with thoughts as hard
As stones so she can practice her lines
She needs to speak clearly
As she lies.
“Melissa,” I will say
“Miss Ruby will run the house
She’ll make fried chicken and okra
Hamburger and broccoli
And when her mental hat flies
Off down some weird and wondrous
Street she will not chase it
Will not ramble as she talks
Or twist fragments of the past
Into a hopeless stew of
Neverwasness. Miss Ruby will
Be our Strength and Center around which
We will build Family
Are you listening, Melissa?
Will you tell them how sure we are
Of our grandmother? Can you understand
That we sell the Shadow to support
The Substance of Miss Ruby?
And dear Melissa, you have to say it all with
Happiness in your voice. You must smile
Sweetly. It is always Miss Ruby
With a tilt of the head, and Mama
With love in your voice and—”
She left!
—Call her Mama!
She left, that’s all to say
—One day we’ll be with her again.
She left!
One day
If we hold on
Hold ourselves together
We’ll find some way to bring her home Again
Never
She walked away
To live in her own world
Junice, I hate her! She left us!
She did!
I know
Baby, I know
We have the same ragged
Steel tearing at our guts, ripping Our lives
I know
Oh look
Into my eyes
There’s fear, but there’s fight, too
We can be more than we should be
We two
Just you and me
Melissa and Junice
Two strong Black women against all
That’s wrong
Junice
I’m filled with scared
My stomach aches with sad
I believe in you, my Junice
I’ll try
RACHEL DAVIS, DEPARTMENT of FAMILY SERVICES
I have a job to do, a thing, a chore
To look into, investigate, to know
What is happening, what’s the score
What makes this family tick, what makes them go
And if there is a danger, then it must be seen
Put aside, taken care of, duly filed
With each detail revealed, all secrets seen
With the clear aim that what is intended
Is not some vague desire, no “if I could”
No debate, pointless and open-ended,
But that clear truth we call “the greater good.”
There is no room for maybes when babies
Are involved and they are so young, these two
To be brought into family court
The younger girl crying, the older glares
But I only write the Final Report
I am not the cause of their despair
What they don’t understand
Is that the precise list of regulations
Properly numbered and indented
Is family. They still long for blood and
Flesh although blood and flesh has failed
Them. The mother, Leslie, is my age.
The report says that she has a tattoo on
The side of her neck that says “Kitty.”
I could never imagine myself with a
Tattoo, or selling drugs, or having
Children without a father at least listed
As Divorced.
At sentencing she pleaded that her
Children needed her, would be desperate
Without her. The judge asked her
Where were her children when she was
Out selling drugs? She had no answer.
Now she has given her family to the
State.
The girl is sixteen, and much like the mother
Her hair uncombed, her face looking older
Than it should, her eyes darting back and
Forth as she talks. She is a thinker,
But what does she think? Her mother
Is the kind who doesn’t think, who pushes
Her way through a crowd of days
As if she were in a hurry to get somewhere
And yet turns at every obstacle to start in
A new direction.
My report will be straightforward, to the point.
Should the state intervene, wrap its arms
Around the girl and the sister? The sister
Is almost ten, and shy. I almost caught myself
Reaching out to her. Almost felt myself being
Stirred by her youth, the eyes that looked
Through me as if they could see
The cool marrow of my being.
Once she smiled for no clear
Reason and I felt that she had seen
The little girl in me that once was as
Pretty and hopeful as she is now.
And when she smiled I smiled back
But then…but then I knew I must
Move on and find that
Greater good.
The Final Report will depend on the
Grandmother. Can she care for these
Children? There is already a file on
Her, it is thick with yellowed papers
And the accumulation of forty years
Of dampness. Her Report, 1076-A,
Individual Court Record lists her
As Stokes, Ruby, aka Ambers, Ruby—
Black, two felony convictions.
Assaults, one with a knife, one with a
Bat against a man.
What kind of life
Is defined by felonies, by street
Fights? What can she give these
Girls? What can she contribute
To the greater good?
JUNICE in the EARLY MORNING
Miss Ruby has probably always been
Bigger than she needed to be
Square shouldered, skin dark and dry
As the black field dirt she came from
Wide hipped, wide lipped
Dried ha
rd in the bitter Georgia sun
Somewhere along the hardscrabble road
Somewhere between the Left Alone
Blues and the One Room
Bathroom down the hall
The almost saved daughter
Of Sunrise Baptist Tabernacle
Hardened. One day the music
Was loud enough and the
Rhythm strong enough to
Push her too far into the Night
To ever turn back.
She is my flesh and blood,
Big boned as I am big boned
Uncomfortable in
Her skin.
Now she lives in shadow and memory
Her mind a cluttered shelf
In a narrow hallway closet
Her life is a tattered volume of fading
Photos, brown edged and crumbling
Some hopelessly stuck together
In her quiet times, between the pain
Of her newfound wilderness and the
Rage of not knowing who she is
She sorts the pictures, putting faces
With times, times with places
Sometimes, away from the girls who
People her life, she cries in the darkness
Thin shoulders, no longer straining
Against the twisted bra straps
Hunch forward. Dark hands twist
Her half-empty cup
Nervously as she waits for the silence
To stop its threats
For the talking to start the day.
“Morning, Miss Ruby.”
“Go on, child.”
“How you feeling today?”
“You know, there ain’t no need complaining.”
“You want some eggs?”
“They were all right.”
“You didn’t have any eggs yet, Miss Ruby. I’ll make
you some.”
“You’re so sweet, Kitty.”
“Junice, Miss Ruby. I’m Junice.”
DAMIEN and ROXANNE
“Roxanne, where you headed?” Damien asks.
“To the Computer Lab to see
If any He-males are sending
E-mails my way. Where are you going?”
“To the office to check out the yearbook
Pictures.”
“Well, aren’t you the busy one,” Roxanne says,
“And by the way—Colson asked me to
The Charity Jam—something about
Homeless Asians, or Hurricanes—is there
A war in Angola? Or is that a prison?
Anyway, you’ve been so busy
Too busy for dances, I’m sure. Mother was
Surprised because she took it
For granted that you and I would be—
Well, you know how mothers are,
Taking things for granted and Cynthia
Said she saw you talking to that girl
Hummis, or Loomis, something like
That and don’t they have such
Interesting names and did I hear her
Mother was a drug dealer—Oh, I guess that’s
What you do when you get hot
Or is it ghe-tto. If you’re not too busy
You should take her to
The Charity Jam. I’m sure she’d fit
Right in. Don’t you think so?”
The PHONE CALL
Hello, Junice?
No, Damien Battle, Kevin’s friend
We spoke just the other day, remember
In the principal’s office. Yeah. Yeah.
Wondering if you were busy Friday
There’s this dance at a club downtown, not hip
But good for a laugh, something new to do
Could you? Could we? I don’t know. Are you free?
It could be fun. Something to do. You and me.
Damien, it’s good to hear from you
Friday, no, I can’t.
I have to babysit. You called so late
Perhaps some other time. It sounds all right.
But I thought you and Roxanne were tight
She seems more your type. Nothing personal.
And I’m glad you called and everything
But right now I’m a bit unglued
I love to dance, but not right now
I’m not really in the mood
Roxanne and I are friends, there’s nothing more
Our folks go back, you know how that thing goes
But, hey, you want to stop at the coffee shop
I’m thinking of taking over the world, and I can
Use some advice.
Why am I holding my breath?
She’s said “yes,” why am I nervous?
DAMIEN, JUNICE, and MELISSA in GRACE’S COFFEE SHOP
How are things with you, He asked
You don’t know? She responded
I’ve heard, He said
What? She asked.
That you are bruised, that there are tender spots in
Your life
There are no tender spots, She said, No bruises,
She protested
(She put two teaspoons of sugar
Into her coffee, slowly stirring
Only the top)
The coffee used to be 50 cents here
Now it is a dollar, He said.
It’s cleaner now, She said
The coffee is better
There used to be flies, She said
The flies liked the old coffee
He said
Her face flashed with smiling
(She looked away and then back at him
Delighted with his joke
He wanted to delight her again.)
Things change, She said
Her face darkening with her mood
Bruises happen.
Sometimes, He said, it’s hard to know
How to handle things
(Melissa was quiet, but she was thinking
That sometimes words
Danced instead of talked
They bowed and touched
And moved away
Making spaces in the air
Between them
It was hard to know what
Damien and Junice were talking about
Unless you could read the shape
Of the air between
Them. Melissa looked, and guessed
That they liked each other.)
When will I see you again? He asked, reaching for
The bill.
When would you like? She replied
Looking toward the far counter
Friday? He asked.
Okay, She said, with a shrug of one
Shoulder.
I’ll give you my address, she said.
You can come by. I’m
Babysitting you-know-who.
Fine, He said.
(Melissa smiled)
But my crib is just a crib, Junice said No
Home & Garden stuff, just “do get by”
But if you still want to come,
Then ring the bell
(What am I doing? He’ll take one quick look
And wish he was anywhere else but here
I’m already ashamed of what I think
He will think of me, of the life I lead)
I’ll see you Friday
DAMIEN standing on the PLATFORM, waiting for the UPTOWN 2
What sweet surprise have I found in her
That makes me high with gladness?
That makes me want to babble to my lost saints
And count the ways to celebrate her wonder?
I see Melissa softly touch her arm
And I long to speak the language of that touch
The hum and thrum of crosstown traffic sings to her
And I long to scat and jazz that ode of joy
Her smile lifts and lightens me, and I want to fly
My newfound wings slanting to a sky
Ablaze with shimmering brillia
nce
As I am ablaze and silly and rapt
Why does her look startle me?
I have seen eyes sparkling in a sideways glance
Why do her lips, pouting in a gentle curve
Make my brain reel and my heart dance?
With Junice I am not merely Damien
But something new, a me invented
Each atom of my being alive with feelings
And oh what sweet sensations
The crowded station rattles and shakes
But I am alone on the mountaintop
Naming the creatures of the earth
And this sweet creature, this Junice, I will call Love
JUNICE washing DISHES
He might not show at all, but if he does
I will take his jacket, and ask him to sit
Where will he sit? On the sofa, of course
He’ll look right at me, too polite to stare
At the peeling walls or the faded rug
He’ll ask how I’ve been and I’ll say “Quite well,
Thank you.” Then I will have to sit, but where?
Next to him on the sofa seems too bold
But the window seat is too far away
As if I’m afraid to be close to him
Or being too respectful. That’s not good, either.
Miss Ruby hardly touched her food
And she doesn’t eat at all if I
Put out the good plates. It’s as
If her mind is back to some party
From a hundred years ago.
If Damien brings food I’ll have to sit near him
Melissa will be watching television
And Miss Ruby will be asleep.
I hope she doesn’t snore
I’ll make small talk, something about school
Look at me, telling myself I don’t care
What he thinks yet planning every move
He’ll sit there and I’ll sit here with nothing
Between us except our good intentions.
And he had best bring his good intentions
If this boy thinks I’m easy, some chump chick—
I’ll start my good-byes at the end of hello
Maybe I’ll just meet him at the door
And tell him I’ve changed my mind
And asking him here was just
Street Love Page 3
