The Night the Blacks Came

[rowens]

This is the fast paced, sometimes melodramatic-sounding style of poetry that many people write about these subjects.

There's a warmness to it; like the poetry made by other people that I rarely read.


This is a bit melodramatic, in my mind:

With our eyes wide open, we watched
Time take its toll on what life had become.
Mama said it wasn’t our town any more.

And this is keeping tension while pouring on sweetness in a child-like way. Childhood memories are important in this style of poetry. That goes for the "And"s too; it speeds the pace, and sounds child-like:


The blacks came,
I heard them, their soft, warm voices;
Their delicate, open footsteps on our so silent sidewalk,
Up onto our deserted porch.
—I heard the animal sounds,
The four-leg running through the woods
Behind the house…

And they’d come to offer us a deer.
In case we were mad that they were chasing
Deer through our lawn.
As fair in their guilt,
As their innocent palms could offer
In front of us,
The children that harbored reindeer, and dreams
Of suga plums in our heads…



So I can't disagree with any critiques so far.