by Angela Johnson
My Uncle Fred has a slash
across his face from
some redneck
trying to
stop him from ordering
a lemonade from a lunch counter
in Montgomery.
When the weather changes, it
aches him, he says,
but smiles when
he says it, whenever he says it.
All my mama could remember
was how Grandmama had
screamed and
talked about
leaving the South.
All I can think is
how terrible it was
and how beautiful
it made him.
from The Other Side: Shorter Poems
by Angela Johnson
Orchard Books, 1998
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