Back home our pony-tailed girls hopscotched four chalk squares. God, how pony tails ding-donged! May(a) I imagine you one of them. I wait for dusk to hide your black. Odd to see a black face in browns.
Now old girls play ,bald and ribald. Like you they feel they have won. The others think they have ,poor things.
(remembering Maya Angela’s poem Harlem Hopscotch)