Cento

A Cento of Quotations from Camille Dungy, Terrance Hayes, Vievee Francis, Jamaal May, Ross Gay, Lucille Clifton

My parents would have had me believe

there was no such thing as race

there in the wild backyard, our knees black

with store-bought grass and dirt,

black as the soil of pastures or of orchards

grown above graves.

He put gently into the earth

some plants which, most likely,

continues to grow, continue

to do what such plants do, like house

and feed small and necessary creatures,

fist-sized clutches of bees between the frames,

almost clinging to one another,

this one's tiny head pushed 

into another's tiny wing,

one's forelegs resting on another's face,

the translucent paper of their wings fluttering

beneath my breath. Purple vengeance pours

from clouds in the sky

while smooth sidewalks consume trees,

ruffling its wild back and tossing

mountains into the sea.

How ruined the lovely

Children must be in that birdless city,

their houses burning with wonder,

their hammocks drunk with wind.

How often have I asked now?

I've grown tired of my questions.

And you've grown tired of the limits of my language.

"I have never wanted another life, but I know the story

in the blue hour before sunup,"

which is precisely what the child in my dream said,

holding my hand, pointing at the roiling sea and the sky

hurtling our way like so many buffalo,

"we worked into the edge of darkness

and rose in the edge of darkness."
But they won't stop saying
"how lovely the ruins/ how ruined the lovely"