Poet's Corner: "Spring is the Cruelest Season"

For Malcolm.

Random wintertime stories
of dead kings and born

leaders die in May. We celebrate
what we choose, sometimes

forgetting the skin beneath
the finely tailored suits.

They were our black men,
our strong black women;

from a generation great in
weakness and humble in

strength. Burned now is their
journey, like the scalp when

relaxer is left in far too long.
Those scars never heal,

but we can hope hair will
grow to hide the bald

spot left as residue when
we try to change our

appearance to fit into a world made for
squares, while remaining circles.

By A. Jarrell Hayes

Poets: Submit to Poet's Corner by e-mailing poem & bio to A. Jarrell Hayes at ajhayes@theblackurbantimes.com. Put "Poet's Corner" as the subject.

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