Molded in the Shape of a Smile
By Sandra Noel
Most of my childhood was spent
in a schizophrenic state
called segregation
split apart by a color line
drawn by an angry white fist
down the middle of the street
in small towns like ours
everyone, pretending this was life
pretending this was acceptable.
German housewives complaining
about that smell down the road
but getting on with the laundry.
When the world turned
as the freedom riders’ buses and King
and the cameras rolled
on the fire hoses and the dogs
we sat in front of our old
black and white TV together
repeating, “How awful! How awful!”
as if seeing it for the first time
as if it wasn’t where we lived
and what we believed
and our maid stood by
her dark eyes blazing
lips molded in the shape of a smile.
Lives in Washington