BEHIND THE POEM: TOWELS FOR THE BEACH
“towels for the beach”
She had it rough but never spoke of
The beginning with no family or friends
Even if they had been around the times she was in
Rolling up towels for stiff necked white men in a parlor
While the brothers polished the shoes
She gracefully wasted away into future dreams of decay
That always ended with the reality of folding towels
Modern day slave yes sir yes master
It is all the same
Burnt pages of her bible for she thought what god
Would make her live the life she do
Up at different times of night, haunted by the steam rising
Off those towels but always before sunrise got to get to those towels
And make it to the busline in time for some more time traveling where
Insults were replacing the whips she might have gotten
on her back for a towel not being as warm as the men expect
Get uzomah ugwu’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
so often did she want to put her head in a stove and walk
in flames until she found a grave and got some type of respect amongst the dead
but whether awake, passed away or fast asleep
the discrimination went along with her even six feet deep and it Is at
its peaks where one should seek patience
yet she kept on with the maintenance of the towels
hiding her frown
yes sir was her answer to their doors that stayed closed off to her
it was a simple answer of folding up towels
as she drew her bath after another day where her
freedom and self respect were held for ransom she
grabbed her towel and questioned the fabric like it would
answer if she was better off talking to the pastor
even though she already knew the answer
yes sir was just a different way of saying yes master
and folding up towels was a job that kept it that way
like her own towels were left unfolded with no questions
BEHIND THE POEM: I wrote this for every black woman who was entering another form of slavery after the slaves were so called freed and the only work they could find was that of a maid. This is also for Howard alumni Zora Lee Hurston who was a manicurist at a black owned barbershop who served top white men in politics who forgot they were in front of her and spoke freely. Ok I will take this title, as a proud black poet whose poems have been published in over five countries in magazines and journals and have published a collection of poems for today only. I celebrate black poetry day in honor of Jupiter Hammon born on this day and was the first published black writer in the USA. This poem was published in an anthology by a publisher based out of the Netherlands a few years ago you can find it here.
