The poem describes a family experiencing immense grief after losing their son. Mama clutches a blanket as she lets her tears fall, overcome with sadness now that she is alone. Papa finds shriveled corn that is no good. When a cart arrives with officials and a camera, Mama and Papa are brought outside. Their eyes are filled with deep scarlet as they watch helplessly as the truck takes their son away. Mama falls to the ground, desperately trying to feel her son's hand and see his face in the dust, as the family's home is now empty without him.
The poem describes a family experiencing immense grief after losing their son. Mama clutches a blanket as she lets her tears fall, overcome with sadness now that she is alone. Papa finds shriveled corn that is no good. When a cart arrives with officials and a camera, Mama and Papa are brought outside. Their eyes are filled with deep scarlet as they watch helplessly as the truck takes their son away. Mama falls to the ground, desperately trying to feel her son's hand and see his face in the dust, as the family's home is now empty without him.
The poem describes a family experiencing immense grief after losing their son. Mama clutches a blanket as she lets her tears fall, overcome with sadness now that she is alone. Papa finds shriveled corn that is no good. When a cart arrives with officials and a camera, Mama and Papa are brought outside. Their eyes are filled with deep scarlet as they watch helplessly as the truck takes their son away. Mama falls to the ground, desperately trying to feel her son's hand and see his face in the dust, as the family's home is now empty without him.
The disease still darkening the room Mama. Clutching the blanket Everyone was gone now, she let the tears fall
Papa pulled out the corn that had
Been forgotten Shriveled, Brown, Crumbling at the Touch A cart rolled Up
Mama, Papa yelled, The paper, they’re here
No, Mama silently moaned into the cloth No, wishing he was here
Papa had to drag her out.
They stood together. The camera flashed.
Bringing out the deep scarlet Brimming their eyes. Crows. Cawed. The cows. Stank. From the barn. Mama. Papa. Stood watching the truck leave. Unable to breathe. The pitchfork In Papa’s hand Felt as if it was pressed against them.
Wailing and Screaming.
Mama fell, pulling up the dirt Trying to feel her son’s hand Trying to find his face among the dust and rock of the gravel
Papa carried her back to the
house. No longer a Home
They would burn their black clothes.
Tomorrow. Let them die. Black only brought upon tears