What to Eat, What to Drink, What to Leave for Poison

Lament

31 LamEnt Those black men flew out ofTuskegee armed with trades, and that diploma oversaw his store. Now there’s nothing but the mirror in our basement and an oak spool-holder, a plaque of thread my mother still consults when she mends a hem. My father’s father is a photo I barely recognize. He lives in my uncle’s face. He reaches for me with my father’s hands, but he died before I knew anything about him but cast-off things, died before I could write a story for him about anything but loss. What do I know if I don’t know what it is that would have made him a man? This page intentionally left blank. a This page intentionally left blank. ...