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Bury My Clothes Bury My Clothes by Roger Bonair-Agard
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“And this is when I knew I was black for real.
This is when I knew black was a city
whose walls were constantly under siege....”
Roger Bonair-Agard, Bury My Clothes
“.... This is also what it means
to live in a time of polio, to be buried
unknown, but not less loved
than the pope or the president. I want
to tell my children this. We are
all worried about not being good
enough for love. Imagine all we have.
Imagine all we love and live through.
Imagine what a chance we have
to endure the very worst
that might come our way.”
Roger Bonair-Agard, Bury My Clothes
“You don’t know any of your father’s truths and he is considering his own death   17 To come from; clock as metronome—time as linear—verb transitive; to come from accents both the come, the from, is bacchic as a drum.   18 Because you’ve come from your own infant heart’s evisceration and you cannot remember being left, but you’ve been left and learned how to cherish the numb of it   19 To come from is to not need anyone. To legacy your aloneness so hard you break   20 love   21 you break. 22 All airports now make you weep. You come from weeping—Wednesday’s child; you come from woe.”
Roger Bonair-Agard, Bury My Clothes