The Future Is Black as a Pocket

By Krista Franklin

After Kara Walker’s “Untitled,” 2020

The handwriting is on the wall
a white smear across the face of the sky
a smear of white
  a white chalk smear on a blackboard sky
an inky bleed that eats everything.
Come clean. In the dark
we all look alike,
    right? Wing of a bald eagle
            blinking back mini strokes
        in the eye, aperture, strobe
  light. Look:

There’s always something in the corner.
Of the eye, the room, a little sliver
of something unsavory. Some femme’s
back black overrun
    by the charcoal drip (grip) snatched
up in the fist
    by the unwell iron fist
overwritten out of  history’s
    pages. It’s hard
            to even see
who’s still here.

Notes:

This poem is part of the portfolio “Kara Walker: Back of Hand.” View all artwork from the portfolio, including the one this poem is after, or read the rest of the portfolio in the April 2024 issue.

Source: Poetry (April 2024)