- Dear Black Barbie
I made you fuck my white Barbieeven though I knew you didn’t want to.There were no whips or chains,this was a different kind of plantation fantasy.I didn’t have a Ken doll, so I made you the man.Not knowing what fucking looked likeI just rubbed you against each other and made you kiss.
I kept you barefoot like you camethree worlds later or fifty years earlier,but I had Nicki Minaj dreams for us:bleached brown skin, long stringy yellow hair,God-blue eyes, lips pink as a Cadillac. Only thencould you wear the best dress and the one pair of pumps.
My dear black Barbie, maybe you needed a grandmato tell you things are better than they used to be.There was a time when you didn’t exist at all. [End Page 98]
Candace G. Wiley is a poet and fiction writer. She has served as the creative writing director for a reproduction of the musical revue Jacques Brel: Alive and Well and Living in Paris, which was a benefit performance for Haiti, and she has written dialogues and poetry for the prototype of Ghosts of South Carolina College, an iPhone app. She recently returned to the United States from San Basilio de Palenque, Colombia, where she conducted research as a Fulbright Fellow for her poetry manuscript.