Kevin Browne ,‏
Submitted via Twitter: @drbrowne
#TheRaceCardProject

 “Black Boy” for Michele
by:  Kevin A. Browne

I was grateful; granny was prophetic,
almost making me out of clay,
caressing my tar with old love.
black before it was a color.

we come from an oily family,
our skins sticky to the touch.
we, who gushed from the oilfields:
she didn’t want me digging holes.

she didn’t want us digging holes.

she remains, now, a 45 minute recording—
my own ghost in the machine—that I listen to often,
but not often enough.

she named me.

I think it was so that every time I say my name,

I say it with her tongue:
black boy.