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BECAUSE I KNEW MY UNCLES by Ellen June Wright

I don’t need a Black Superman

but some people might

those who never knew my uncles

and all they did to raise up

the next generation while being servants

of the church, while erecting businesses

even failing then starting again

to build up a reputation people

in the community could respect.

I don’t need a Black Superman

because I have known men who

came into this world scratch-dirt poor,

who raised sun-shaded houses full of children

made peace with their creator

stretched a dollar in every direction

lived on prayer like war rations

respected their marriages of 40 or 50 years

saw dozens of grandchildren claim them.

These men knew how to make

the earth yield

knew how to make things grow

knew animal husbandry

knew how to build buildings

cinder block by cinder block

knew how to work the factory line.

They owned their own homes.

They owned their own land.

Quiet as watch towers,

they were men of few words.

I don’t need a Black Superman

because I knew my uncles.

They feared no kryptonite.

They grew strong on yams

and dasheen and cornmeal porridge

and boiled green banana and mannish water soup.

I’ve known Black Supermen my whole life.

They were strong. They lived long.

They kept their capes tucked in.

 

Ellen June Wright (she/her) is an American poet with British and Caribbean roots. Her work has been published in Plume, Tar River, Missouri Review, Verse Daily, Gulf Stream, Solstice, Louisiana Literature, Leon Literary Review, North American Review, Prelude and Gulf Coast, and is forthcoming in the Cimarron Review. She’s a Cave Canem and Hurston/Wright alumna and a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee.