Three by Tacarra Taylor

Black Man

Look at me, I say

I’m black and I’m beautiful

My eyes belie my pain

Riches after my pilgrimage

I hope to claim

I hope to escape the sale of myself and my

brothers and sisters

Going to Mecca

I won’t look back

Even though the sun is burning

darkened like a fine liquor

I walk and cross rivers

ducking the white man

Sometimes in the early mornings I shiver

but I must keep going

to reach my promised land

When it is reached

my people will cry and dance

Make our faces to figures of stone

Remember the lines of our faces

the trails we embarked on

Me, in stone, tell my story

long after I’m gone.

Tacarra Taylor



The vessel is still

even the dog doesn’t bark —

master’s boy keep the boat calm with

an oar.

Outside, it’s not dark.

Nervous, yet, I aim for a fish,

my prey.

Like a lion who roars,

spilled blood means food.

On a canoe

charged with keeping the master safe

if I don’t catch one immediately

I’ll wait and I’ll wait.

My hat blocks the sun, the brim keeps

me cool.

Being in this lake

is much like a large pool.

Although I’ve been ordered

I like me assignment.

Feeling in control.

Even when I sweat, my eyes

don’t roll for this.

I love master

because my chores take their toll.

Tacarra Taylor




The Block

Sturdy and still

Hard and filled

dusty and gray

erected every day

you can mold me and shape me

I turn into all sorts of things

very shapely

I crack and I fall

some call me a wrecking ball

I am used and abused

angry people kick me

they break my limbs, I am amused

Some call me a foundation

I helped found a great nation

I am what I am, but I’m not a rock

I can me made into many things

so call me a building block

Tacarra Taylor




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